


Stranger Things (season 1)

by shuckit



Series: Stranger Things [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), Stranger Things - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Stranger Things (TV 2016) References, Stranger Things Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 12:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15243726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuckit/pseuds/shuckit
Summary: Season 1 of Stranger Things adapted into a poorly written novel.





	1. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I decided to write Stranger Things keeping to the script but adding detail and description. I know it can be boring if you've already watched Stranger Things but I'm having fun with it :-)

**November 6, 1983  
Hawkins, Indiana**

 

Lights flickered on and off. On and off. On and off. The pale light illuminated the thin hallway, flashing continuously. A thick feeling of dread hung in the silent, still air. Night had fallen across the landscape of Hawkins, only ages ago, but inside the tightly closed military base, it was impossible to tell.

Suddenly, without warning, two steel doors were thrown open. An alarm went off, cutting through the previous silence. A man raced out of the doors, his lab coat ripped and tattered. His heavy panting and the alarm's high pitched wailing tore through the air. A look of pure terror was plastered across his features. His heavy shoes slammed against the ground as he ran as fast as his poor body could carry him. His lab coat flapped out behind him, as he skidded around a corner. The man lurched towards the elevator, striking the button to open the doors over persistently as if his life was on the line. And perhaps it was. The screaming alarm didn't tire, and neither did his loud breathing which filled the air - but it was nothing compared to his heart hammering inside his chest.

There was sweat drenching the poor man's body as he trembled before the elevator door. He glanced shakily over his shoulder as if expecting something to suddenly appear. From around the corner that he had come, there was a loud thump. His fingers slammed against the elevator button even quicker now, his eyes wide with panic. _Ding!_ Finally, the elevator doors slowly slid open. He lurched inside and his fingers smashed against the elevator buttons once more. The flickering lights from the hallway cast their light upon his pale and drawn face. Ever so slowly, he tipped his head back to look above. As the elevator doors began closing, his body was jerked upwards, and a piercing scream filled the elevator and the hallways beyond. As the elevator doors slowly closed, the scream was cut short and was replaced with silence.


	2. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far the biggest chapter. Everything else is a lot shorter.

"Something is coming.. something hungry for blood."

A group of twelve year old boys sat around a table, leaning forwards, all their gazes riveted on Mike. A game of Dungeons and Dragons was splayed out upon the table. There were shadows under the boy's eyes and it was obvious they had been playing for a long time.

"A shadow grows on the wall behind you, swallowing you in darkness." Mike spoke slowly and dramatically, his gaze trained intensely on his friends. "It is almost here."

"What is it?" Will asked, leaning forwards and staring at Mike, his soft, brown eyes large. The words were spoken quietly and softly, as was almost everything he said. He was known to be soft-spoken and gentle. But even so, you could hear the curiosity and tension that was laced within his words.

"What if it's the demogorgon?" said Dustin solemnly, his voice hinting at a trace of fear.

"Oh my, we're so screwed if it's the demogorgon." moaned Will, leaning against the back of his chair with a groan.

Dustin swore under his breath, as he lifted his hand to rub at his forehead. Dustin had thick, curly brown hair that tumbled down his forehead and a red, white and blue hat that perched atop his head. An alarm was going off in his head; this definitely wasn't going to end well. He knew it.

"It's _not_ the demogorgon," replied Lucas with conviction, although it was most likely he was trying to reassure himself as well as the others. The boy was leaning against the table, watching Mike closely for proof.

"An army of troglodytes charge into the chamber!" cried Mike, slamming a piece onto the center of the board. The table trembled from the movement. His own, brown hair bobbed upon his forehead. As was the fashion in those days, his hair was kept longer, reaching his shoulders and curving inwards.

"Troglodytes?" Dustin exclaimed. 

"Told ya!" laughed Lucas, grinning as relief washed over him.

The three of them chuckled nervously, glad to be relieved of that worry. The demogorgon was virtually impossible to defeat and in the attempt, you would most likely end up dying within the game.

Mike spoke once again, his voice softer this time. "Wait a minute." Everyone's attention was glued onto the small boy as he continued with narrating the campaign. "Do you hear that?" He looked behind him dramatically, taking his time. "That.. that sound? Boom... boom... Boom!" The last 'boom' was yelled loudly as he slammed down upon the table. All of the boys visibly jumped, clearly shaken. Mike's planning board wobbled slightly but refused to fall.

Mike's face was devoid of emotion except for the grave seriousness etched onto his features. The boys were all terrified but the game continued. It had taken Mike weeks to prepare and it was certainly an action-laced game. It was Dungeons and Dragons, after all. Their obsession with the game was unbeatable. It was 1983, and it was the biggest rage. For the 12 year old boys, it had become their life and their obsession.

"No, that didn't come from the troglodytes." continued Mike Wheeler slowly. "No, that... that came from something else." The dim lighting in the Wheeler's basement cast shadows upon his gently freckled cheeks. "The demogorgon!" he cried out. A small playing piece depicting a demon-looking creature was smacked onto the table with a thump. Almost immediately, the room filled with groans from the small boys.

"We're in deep shit." moaned Dustin.

"Will, your action!" Mike yelled at the tinier boy, eyes wide.

"I don't know!" yelped Will.

"Fireball him!" Lucas exclaimed, obviously frustrated with his friend's lack of sense.

"I'd have to roll a 13 or higher," Will shot back, looking panicked.

"Too risky. Cast a protection spell," Dustin said wisely, his lisp evident in his voice.

"Don't be a pussy. Fireball him!" Lucas continued urgently. It was as if their lives were at stake. And perhaps, sometimes it felt that way.

"Cast. Protection." Dustin said loudly, feeling it was truly the only right option.

"The demogorgon is tired of your silly, human bickering!" said Mike calmly and clearly. From an outsider's point of view, it was obvious that he was the one leading the game, even if the rules were unknown to them. "It stomps toward you. Boom!"

"Fireball him!" Lucas yelled wildly.

"Another stomp. Boom!"

"Cast protection!" Dustin cried, adding to the yelling chaos.

Will swallowed, staring at the board in front of him, his hands trembling slightly.

"He roars in anger!"

The boys were yelling wildly at each other, each with a different strategy in mind. Will finally made a decision, calling out "fireball!" as he grabbed at the dice and gave it a toss. It bounced off the table and clattered to the ground.

"Oh, shit!" Dustin cried, as the boys became a frenzy of activity as they all lurched from their chairs, determined to find the dice.

"Where'd it go?" Lucas cried. "Where is it?"

"I don't know!"

"Is it a 13?"

"I don't know!"

"Where is it?"

"Oh, my god."

Their voices became an overlapping soundtrack of cries of confusion and desperation as they hunted for the dice among the Wheeler's basement floor. Amidst the chaos, an older and more feminine voice, belonging to none other than Karen Wheeler, pierced the air but the boys were too busy searching for the dice to hear her.

"Mike!"

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God." Dustin continued, holding his head in his hands as he paced back and forth.

"Mike!"

"Can you find it yet?"

"No, I can't find it!"

Mike's mom appeared at the top of the staircase, looking down upon the scrambling boys. "Mike!"

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God." Dustin echoed once more.

"Mom, we're in the middle of a campaign." Mike wailed, glancing up the stairs to find his mother looking down on him with a stern expression on her features.

"You mean the end? Fifteen after." came his mother's quick response. She tapped her wrist, as if there was an invisible watch before turning and returning to the kitchen.

"Oh, my God. Freaking idiot!" Lucas grumbled.

"Why do we have to go?" whined Will.

Mike quickly thrust himself up the stairs, after his mother. He was determined to finish this campaign, where it passed their bedtime or not. His mother clearly had other plans.

"Mom, wait, just twenty more minutes!"

"It's a school night, Michael. I just put Holly to bed. You can finish next week." she responded as she worked on emptying a bowl's container into a pot. Being the mother of three kids, there was always work to do in the kitchen. She released a small sigh, feeling a migraine coming on.

"But that'll ruin the flow!" Mike continued stubbornly.

"Michael -" she lifted her head to look at him.

"I'm serious, mom. The campaign took _two weeks_ to plan." Then, in a quieter voice, he added; "How was I supposed to know it was gonna take ten hours?"

"You've been playing for _ten_ hours?" she exclaimed. 

Mike stood in front of her for a second, scrambling for words. He knew it was useless to argue with her. He spun around and decided to attempt a different tactic. 

"Dad, don't you think that twenty more -"

"I think you should listen to your mother." Ted Wheeler, the father of the household, stood in front of their TV, positioning the antennas. Always siding with Karen, sometimes it seemed to be that he had no form of thought that was entirely his own. The static crackled from the TV, and the glasses-clad man shook his head. "Dang dumb piece of junk." He grunted.

Mike looked at the both of them exasperatedly, utterly confused by how two humans could be so dim-witted. It was Dungeons and Dragons!

Back in the basement, the boys were still frantically searching for the dice.

"Oh, I got it!" Will exclaimed, straightening with a dice lying on the flat of his palm. "Does the seven count?"

"Was it a seven?" Lucas asked, appearing at his side quickly. "Did Mike see it?"

Will shook his head solemnly, as he grabbed his jacket from it's spot on his chair.

"Then it doesn't count." Lucas said, before grabbing his own things that were littered around the room. The basement was a mess. The game board was taking up almost all the space on the little table they had and so their soda cans and belongings were scattered around the room, on any available surface. They had been there for ten hours, after all.

"Yo, hey guys." Dustin called to Lucas and Will who had just started climbing the staircase. He held up a pizza box that they had previously been eating out of. "Does anyone want this?"

The two chorused a single "no", before darting up the stairs, their backpacks thumping against their backs.

Dustin heaved a sigh as he was left with the partially empty pizza box and his own things to carry up. He couldn't easily ride his bike home while carrying a pizza box. The curly-haired boy wound his way through the Wheeler's house to Mike's older sister's room. Nancy's voice was clear and loud as she spoke to someone on the phone. Dustin peeked into her room where she lay on her bed with the phone next to her ear, fidgeting with the cord.

"Hey, Nancy." Dustin said loudly to catch her attention, as he smiled toothlessly at her. "There's a slice left if you want it. Sausage and pepperoni." He said, holding up the pizza box with hope lighting up his brown eyes.

"Hold on," Nancy spoke into the phone before slipping off the bed, and walking towards the door - while doing so, smiling sweetly. She slammed the door in his face. 

\- - - - -

"There's something wrong with your sister." Dustin mumbled as he excited the house to join his buddies outside in the dark.

"What are you talking about?" Mike asked, as he watched his friends prepare to leave.

"She's got a stick up her butt."

Lucas mounted his bike, adding a simple "yeah" to his friend's comment. She sure was pretty, but to the boys she was nothing but mean. Or she simply ignored them. Most often it was being ignored. 

"It's because she's been dating that douche bag, Steve Harrington." Mike said with a sigh.

"Yeah, she's turning into a real jerk."

"She's always been a real jerk." Mike responded.

"Nuh-uh, she used to be cool." Dustin parried. "Like that time she dressed up as an elf for our Elder Tree campaign." 

The three boys were all atop their bikes and slowly pushed themselves away from Mike and his house and the 10 hours they had spent there. The group was a tight-knit pack, and if anything were to happen to the other, there would be a price to pay.

"Four years ago!" Mike called towards Dustin's back.

"Just saying," Dustin grumbled in return.

"Later!" Lucas called as he pedaled down Mike's driveway alongside Dustin. It was time to return to their own safe homes. The night was dark and it was as if a black quilt covered the sky. Twinkling stars glittered, burning thousands and thousands of miles away.

Will lingered for a moment beside Mike, sitting on his bike with his hands ready on the handlebars. "It was a seven." He said softly.

"Huh?"

"The roll. It was a seven." Will explained gently. "The demogorgon. It got me."

Mike blinked, watching Will as the neighboring trees cast shadows upon their faces. 

"See you tomorrow," Will said with the faintest of smiles as Mike didn't respond, before turning and pedaling down the driveway to join Dustin and Lucas who had already pedaled down the street.

The night somehow, seemed even darker than a night should be. The moon's light was dim and a heavy feeling lay upon the small town of Hawkins, Indiana. The next seven days would not only seem like a dream, they would feel like a nightmare.

\- - - - -

The quiet streets were filled with the sound of pedaling bikes and young boy's voices. The kids truly didn't care whether or not they disturbed the whole neighborhood. 

"Good night, ladies," Lucas called to Will and Dustin as his street came into view.

"Kiss your mom 'night for me," Dustin called back.

Lucas turned onto his street and vanished into the darkness, leaving Dustin and Will alone to pedal forwards.

"Race you back to my place? Winner gets a comic." Dustin suggested, a playful gleam alighting in his blue eyes.

"Any comic?"

"Yeah."

Will sped up almost instantly, pedaling quickly as his bike surged past Dustin's.

"Hey! Hey!" called the curly-haired boy, as he fought to catch up with Will. "I didn't say go! Get back here!"

Will was completely unbothered by that fact as he continued pedaling furiously down the street, determined to win a comic of his choice.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Dustin called at Will's back.

"I'll take your X-Men 134!" Will called back joyously, a smile playing on his lips as he shot forward.

Dustin, panting, slowly skidded to a halt as he watched Will fly away. Breathing heavily, he shook his head. "Son of a bitch."

Will continued on, his pace becoming less hurried as his friend vanished. The tiny boy biked along the narrow road, a light from his bike shining upon his close surroundings. Houses and neighborhoods had quickly been replaced with trees and the darkness was thick surrounding him. He biked past a sign he had seen many times, when coming or going upon the quiet road to his house. But to any others, it would be odd to see him passing it as the sign clearly stated to do the opposite.

**Hawkins National Laboratory - U.S Department of Energy**

**No Trespassing - U.S Government Property**

Even so, the small boy biked past it without comment or hesitation.

Suddenly, the light on his bike flickered off and threw him into complete darkness. Thankfully, it was only momentary and suddenly lit up once more, illuminating his path. He glanced down at it, a tingle of fear beginning to grow inside his stomach. He looked up, focusing on the road ahead of him. The dim moonlight illuminated a figure not too far away. It was a simple silhouette but he could make out long arms and hunched shoulders. He gasped, fear exploding inside of him as he fumbled with his handlebars, his bike veering left and throwing him off the road. He fell, tumbling onto the leaf-scattered ground. His heart was pounding within his chest and a little whimper escaped his lips as he pushed himself off the ground. He was terrified, but slowly looked up to the road. The creature was still there, and a growl erupted from it's body.

Terrified, and badly shaken, he turned and bolted for it. Home, home, home. He needed to get home. His feet pounded against the ground but his heartbeat and heavy breathing seemed too loud in his ears to hear anything else. If the monster was following him, he didn't know. He didn't dare look back.

He turned a bend, racing towards the small structure that was his home. His safe place. He jerked the door open, closing the door soundly after him. "Mom?" he called, his voice wavering, as he ran to another room of the house. He darted to a window, and lifted the curtain that was blocking the outside from view. He pressed his face against the glass, searching for a sign of the creature. He heard an eery screech that most definitely wasn't human and spotted the faint silhouette of the creature, whatever it was.

Heart racing, he lurched away from the window to the house's one rotary phone. He grabbed it from it's wall mount, attempting to swallow the fear that was rapidly consuming him. He was shaking so bad, it was difficult to turn to the dial to the right numbers. The line rang as he trembled before it. "Hello? Hello?" he whispered into the receiver. His voice was only answered with the sound of static crackling. And there it was again, the odd and eery screeching filling the line. Whimpering and trembling, he moved to look towards the front door. The small window on the door suddenly had the figure of a dark person or creature standing just outside of it. A growl emitted from the shadow, filling the room. Somehow, Will still had the courage to move as he turned and raced out of the house.

Behind his house was a small shed that Will's family used for gardening tools and other such objects. One of those was a gun. Will darted into the shed's interior towards the shelf where it lay. It was huge for his small body but he reached it and pulled it off of the shelf to put it on a table. He grabbed a small box of bullets and fumbled with them as he attempted to load the gun. He was trembling from head to toe and the light from the shed's ceiling cast muted shadows upon his features. Small and shaking, he held the successfully loaded gun in his arms as he pointed it towards the shed's doors. His whole body shook with the fear that was utterly consuming him. 

The sound of growling came from the door which did nothing to help Will's courage. He had never been more terrified. Slowly, he turned around as the screeching intensified to look upwards. The lightbulb dangling from the shed's ceiling glowed brighter than it had moments before. It illuminated the whole room, and it was so bright it was difficult to look at it.

And suddenly, it faded back to normal. The loud screeching disappeared and was replaced with silence. The bright, almost blinding light vanished. And so did Will Byers.


	3. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 2

"Where the hell are they? Jonathan?" Joyce Byer's voice resounded clearly in the small, mess of a house she called her own. Her frustrated call was directed at her son, Jonathan Byers, who was making breakfast in the kitchen. Both of their lives, from that day forwards, would never be the same.

"Check the couch." came his calm, patient reply.

"Ugh, I did." Joyce leaned over the couch, looking through the junk that was cluttered randomly throughout the house. Being a single mother of two boys had not been easy for the woman but she was managing surprisingly well, with an exception of the interior of her house. "Oh, got them." She mumbled, as she snatched her keys and joined her oldest son in the kitchen.

Jonathan barely looked up to view his mother's success, too occupied with the food he was making for his younger brother and himself.

"Okay, sweetie, I will see you tonight." She said as she swiftly prepared to leave for work, giving her son a mere pat on the shoulder as a farewell. "Where's Will?"

"Oh, I didn't get him up yet. He's probably still sleeping."

Joyce heaved a frustrated sigh. "Jonathan, you have to make sure he's up! I've told you this a thousand times."

"Mom, I'm making breakfast," Jonathan replied as he watched his mother vanish into the hallway to wake up Will herself.

In a hurry, Joyce entered her youngest son's bedroom, words spilling from her mouth in a rush. "Will! Come on, honey. It's time to get up." The bed was deserted, with no occupied guest. The walls of Will Byer's room were plastered with posters and drawings. A bookshelf by the door was filled with comic books. His mother barely glanced around the room's objects before spinning around to leave once she saw that her precious son was nowhere to be seen.

"He came home last night?" she questioned as she entered the kitchen once more, her motherly instincts taking over as the flutter of her heart began accelerating ever so slightly. Her two sons meant everything to her. They were all she had left.

"He's not in his room?" Jonathan looked up from the breakfast he was cooking, confusion evident in his roughly drawn features. He had thin, shoulder-length hair and a palid face. Smiles were difficult to get out of him, and he smiled most often when Will was around. The two brothers were extremely close, despite their age gap.

"Did he come home or not?" Joyce repeated, faint hysteria bubbling up inside of her.

"I don't know."

" _You don't know_?"

"No." He placed two plates, containing eggs and toast upon their battered table. "I got home late. I was working." He stammered as he looked up to view his mother, nervousness laced through his rough voice.

" _You were working_?" came his mother's panicked voice.

"Eric asked if I could cover. I said yeah. I just thought we could use the extra cash."

It was indeed true that they could use the money. They were not doing their best financially, but Joyce would not be swayed. Her children would always come before money. Always.

"Jonathan, we've talked about this!"

"I know, I know - "

"You can't take shifts when I'm working!"

"Mom, it's not a big deal. Look, he was at the Wheeler's all day. I'm sure he just stayed over." he said defensively. He had been trying to do the right thing for their family. Now look where it had got him.

"I can't believe you," Joyce sighed as she strode towards the telephone mounted on the wall. "I _can't_ believe you sometimes." 

At the Wheeler's house, the small family was sitting around their kitchen table for breakfast. Scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice - almost the exact replica of what the Byers would have eaten. But unfortunately, that morning's event would leave Jonathan Byers as hungry as a rock. The meal that he would have shared with Will was to be eaten alone.

"That's _disgusting_." Nancy Wheeler said with horror as her scrawny, younger brother poured maple syrup over his eggs.

" _You're_ disgusting." He replied, matching her tone.

The telephone rung through their little, well-kept house. Karen Wheeler took it from the wall mount to respond. "Hello?"

"Hi, Karen. It's Joyce." Attempting to hold back any resemblance of the panic that was consuming her, she tried to sound lighthearted and casual as always.

"Oh, Joyce, hi."

"What the _hell_ , Mike?" Nancy erupted as her younger brother poured maple syrup over her own precious scrambled eggs.

"Hey!" their father, Ted Wheeler said sternly. "Language." he said promptly before turning back to the newspaper in his firm hands.

"Are you kidding?" Nancy cried, turning on their father.

"Quiet!" Karen tried to block out her children's voices as she returned her attention to the telephone.

"Was that Will I heard back there?" Joyce asked, hope rising far too swiftly in her gut.

"No, no, no, it's just Mike." Karen responded, unknowingly dashing Joyce's brief genuine enthusiasm and sending her spiraling into even more panic.

"Will didn't spend the night?"

"No, he left here a little bit after eight o'clock. Why, he's not at home?" The answer was obvious.

Jonathan leaned against the table, his hands firmly planted as he watched his mother closely. If this was his fault... Yes, it had to be. It was his fault Will was gone. If only he'd stayed home, if only he'd thought it through.

"Um, you know what? I think he just left early for... school." That was the only logical answer for this mess. "Thank you so much. Bye." She eased the yellow telephone receiver back into it's stand as a small shudder ran down her spine. She turned to face her oldest son once again, hoping against hope that what she had told Karen was right. _Please_ , she silently pleaded to fate. _Please let my son be okay._

\- - - - -

Hawkins Middle School was a buzzing, cheerful atmosphere. Kids walked around chattering to friends without any knowledge of what was soon to become. A mere seven days away, many dark and interesting things would happen at that precise school. Three boys that pedaled towards the building would be particularly impacted - the three of them would never be able to look at the building the same way.

Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair and Dustin Henderson rode their bikes up the pavement. This was a daily occurrence and there didn't seem to be anything odd about it except for one thing - the absence of one member. Will Byers.

"That's so weird. I don't see him." Mike mumbled as they left their bikes at the bike rack next to the middle school.

"I'm telling you, his mom's right." Lucas responded as he shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "He probably just went to class early again."

"Yeah, he's always paranoid Gursky's gonna give him another pop quiz." Dustin added.

"Step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Step right up and get your tickets for the freak show." Almost instantly the atmosphere changed dramatically as Troy, sneering, walked up with his arms raised as if calling for attention. James, his only friend, tagged alongside him with a matching expression. The three boys turned, dread filling each of their stomachs. "Who do you think would make more money in a freak show?" he continued. "Midnight," he began, punching Lucas lightly in the shoulder. "Frogface," he said, punching Mike. "Or toothless?" he finished, giving Dustin one as well.

James, pretending to think hard about it, gave Dustin a sneer. "I'll go with Toothless," he said, mimicking the boy's pronunciation as he emphasized the "th"'s in the sentence. 

"I've told you a million times, my teeth are coming in. It's called cleidocranial dysplasia." Dustin protested.

James merely imitated him once again by repeating his exact words.

"Do the arm thing," Troy demanded, becoming bored rather quickly.

"Do it, freak!" James echoed. 

Dustin reluctantly slid his jacket and backpack from his shoulders before pushing his arms toward one another in front of his body. Instantly, the two bullies recoiled with snickers and groans of disgust.

"Gosh, it gets me every time." Troy groaned before pushing past the small boys, out to find someone else to bully.

"Assholes," Lucas mumbled as Dustin gathered his backpack and jacket from the ground.

"I think it's kinda cool, it's like you have superpowers or something." Mike chimed, always the positive one. "Like Mr. Fantastic." 

"Yeah, except I can't fight evil with it." came Dustin's mumbled reply as they walked away.

\- - - - -

The bell rang throughout the small school as Nancy Wheeler entered the building, her books held primly in her arms. Perfect and angelic were two words used best to describe the teenager. She excelled in her studies and always wore neat, modest clothing. There really was nothing bad or gossip worthy about her.

"So, did he call?" a red headed girl bobbed towards Nancy in the crowd, her arms enclosed securely around her own books. Freckles were dotted across her cheeks and white, rounded glasses were held on her nose.

"Keep your voice down." Nancy hushed.

"Did he?" the girl continued, an impish sparkle dancing in her eyes. Barbara Holland was not one to let her best friend's romantic life slide by without every. Single. Detail.

"I told you, it's not like that. Okay, I mean, yes, he likes me, but not like that. We just... made out a couple times."

"'We just... made out a couple times.'," Barb imitated with a faraway tone in her voice as if dreaming. "Nance, seriously, you're gonna be so cool now, it's ridiculous."

"No, I'm not."

"You better still hang out with me, that's all I'm saying. If you become friends with Tommy H or Carol - "

"Oh, that's gross!" Nancy said, disgusted. "Okay, I'm telling you, it was a one time..."

Barb merely quirked a brow.

"...Two time... thing." she finished, as she opened her locker. Spotting a folded piece of paper in the bottom corner, she selected it and unfolded it. Scrawled upon the lined paper in unmistakable handwriting and blue marker were the words; 

Meet me. Bathroom. - Steve

"You were saying?" Barb said simply with a teasing smile.

\- - - - -

For being such a goody two shoes, Nancy Wheeler was a remarkably good kisser. These thoughts rolled through Steve's mind as he held her against the bathroom wall. There was a thrill that accompanied making out with one of the girl's sharpest girls.

"Steve,"

Grunting, he stopped to look at her. They were in such close proximity, he could see every light freckle dotting her nose.

"I have to go."

"In a minute," he mumbled, attempting to continue what she had interrupted but she pushed him off as the bell rang shrilly through the school.

"Steve. I really, like... Seriously, I have to go." Smiling despite herself, the brunette bent over to grab her things. Steve snatched them before she could, hopping slightly away from her.

"Wait, wait, wait. Let's... come on, let's do something tonight, yeah?" he suggested. 

"Uh, ,no. I can't. I have to study for Kaminsky's test." she replied, stopping down to pick up the remainder of her things.

"Oh, come on. What's your gpa again? 3.999..." he trailed off teasingly. 

"Kaminsky's tests are impossible." she replied matter-of-factly.

"Well then, just let me help."

"You failed chem."

"C minus."

"Well, in that case." she said with a small shake of her head.

"So, I'll be over around, say, like eight o'clock?"

"Are you crazy? My mom would not -"

"I'll climb through your window. She won't even know I'm there. I'm stealthy. Like a ninja." He smirked.

"You are crazy." she responded simply.

"Wait, wait, wait. Just... okay, forget about that." Steve said, changing his tone slightly from teasing to a sweeter tone as he gently pulled her against him. "We can just.. We can just, like, chill in my car. We can find a nice, quiet place to park, and..."

"Steve, I have to study. I'm not kidding." came her response, pronunciated sternly and without a speck of amusement in her tone.

"Well, why do you think I want it to be nice and quiet?" quirking a brow, Steve watched her.

This time, she couldn't help but reply with a small smile. "You're an idiot, Steve Harrington." She leaned backwards, successfully taking her books from him and heading towards the bathroom doorway. At the very last minute, she turned around, with a small smile on her lips. "Meet me at Dearborn and Maple at eight." Then, with every ounce of seriousness she possessed; "to study."

And in that very moment, the quiet and unnoticeable Nancy Wheeler agreed to fall in love with the rowdy and ever so popular Steve Harrington.


	4. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 3

The police department's door shut with a bang. Jim Hopper strode into the building, his breath reeking of cigarettes. One was held firmly in his clenched teeth and he was in his full uniform but evidently late.

The secretary turned her full attention upon him as she said rather coldly: "Good of you to show."

"Oh, hey, morning, Flo. Morning everybody." came Hopper's cocky response as he entered their main room where three other officers sat, playing cards.

"Hey, chief." one said.

"Damn, you look like hell, Chief."

The chief released an unexpected chuckle. "Oh, yeah? Well I looked better than your wife when I left her this morning." That brought the other two officers to chuckles as he strode past them, heading for the coffee machine.

Flo, the secretary, walked towards him and reached to take the cigarette from his lips as he prepared himself a cup of coffee. "While you were drinking or sleeping, or whatever it is you deemed so necessary on Monday morning, Phil Larson called." she said with a small shake of her curly hair. "Said some kids are stealing the gnomes out of his garden again."

"Oh, those gnomes again." Hopper shook his head to himself as he reached for a bagel to fully complete his Monday morning. "Well, I'll tell you what, I'm gonna get right on that."

Flo watched him silently with her hands held on her hips for a moment before adding. "On a more pressing matter, Joyce Byer can't find her son this morning."

Hopper grunted in reply, as he played a card for one of the officers. "Okay, I'm gonna get on that. Just give me a minute." he took a large bite from his bagel.

"Joyce is very upset," Flo continued with a firm frown.

"Well, Flo, Flo, we've discussed this. Mornings are for coffee and contemplation." he said gruffly, laziness seeping through the pauses in his words.

"Chief, she's already in your -"

" _Coffee and contemplation, Flo_!" he emphasized abruptly as he strode into his cluttered office. The man was a mess. In more ways than one. As he entered his office, a woman clad in a long brown coat stood swiftly. Joyce Byer. She was trembling slightly and held her hands together almost desperately as if she let go, she would completely fall apart.

"I have been waiting here over an hour, Hopper!" she said as she chief seated himself at his desk and the woman took full reign over the conversation, distress evident in every word and body language she emitted. 

"And I apologize again," Hopper sighed deeply as he seated himself, took the typewriter and began issuing a missing person's file. This file was rather different than most - it wasn't ordinary for a little boy to go missing in such a small town such as theirs. Hopper thought nothing of the mess that was slowly unraveling - Hawkins was tiny. They never got into any serious problems. This whole issue would blow over soon enough. The kid was probably just playing hookie. Who knew.

"I'm going out of my mind!" Joyce echoed, raising her hands as she shook slightly.

"Look, boy his age, he's probably just playing hookie, okay?" came Hopper's mumbled reply as he voiced his thoughts. It was obvious how little he cared about the case.

"No, not my Will. He's not like that. He wouldn't do that." Joyce fought back persistently.

That's what murderer's families always said. People did unexpected things, sometimes. That was all there was to it.

"Well, you never know. I mean, my mom thought I was on the debate team when really I was just screwing Chrissy Carpenter in the back of my dad's oldsmobile, so.." the comment was a tiny reflection of how Jim Hopper had grown up. Just a tiny peek. It was all anyone ever needed to understand him a lot better.

"Look, he's not like you, Hopper. He's not like me. He's not like... most." Joyce struggled to explain her son. It wasn't easy on her - her two sons meant everything to her and here she was, standing in a chief's office explaining how one had just vanished off the surface of the earth. It was tough. "He has a couple of friends but, you know, the kids, they're mean." she continued, swallowing bravely and gesturing with her hands rapidly as she spoke. "They make fun of him, they call him names. They laugh at him, his clothes -"

"His clothes?" Hopper leaned against the table. "What's wrong with his clothes?"

"I don't know! Does that matter?" she nearly shrieked. 

"Maybe." the calm mask that encased Hopper refused to budge as he stared silently at her.

"Look, he's... He's a sensitive kid. Lonnie..." she sucked in a deep breath. "Lonnie used to say he was queer." Then, in a softer tone, she added softly. "Called him a fag."

"Is he?" Hopper looked at her.

"He's missing is what he is!" she said fiercely as desperation and frustration roared inside of her. She was going to explode soon enough if she didn't have her precious son in her arms.

Hopper leaned against his chair coolly. "When was the last time you heard from Lonnie?"

Joyce, who'd taken a long drag from her cigarette to calm her nerves, scoffed as she shook her head but took a seat nevertheless and responded to his question. "Uh, last I heard, he was in Indianapolis. That was about a year ago." Their relationship had ended long ago and it was obvious, the remnant of their relationship was extremely feeble. "But he has nothing to do with this."

"Why don't you give me his number?" Hopper suggested as he reached for a blue pen.

"You know, Hopper, he has nothing to do with this. Trust me." Joyce continued using her hands wildly as she spoke - one holding a burning cigarette. 

"Joyce, 99 out of 100 times a kid goes missing, the kid is with a parent or relative." He leaned against the table to fully get his point across. He had no intention of viewing this case as anything but a waste of his time and he was desperate to get wacko Joyce out of his office.

"Wh-what about the other time?" Joyce stammered in reply.

"What?"

"You said 99 out of 100," Joyce explained swiftly, her voice trembling. "What about the other time? The One?" Desperation rose high in her voice.

"Joyce."

"The one!" she practically screamed.

"Joyce, this is Hawkins, okay? You wanna know the worst thing that's happened here in the four years I've been working here? Do you wanna know the worst thing? It was when an owl attacked Eleanor Gillespie's head because it thought her hair was a nest." This was his attempt at calming Joyce down, but if it helped, she didn't show it.

"Okay, fine. I will call Lonnie." she muttered angrily. "He will talk to me before he talks to -"

"What, a pig?" Jim Hopper was obviously done with this conversation.

"A cop!" Joyce responded with every ounce of calmness and seriousness she contained. "Just find my son, Hop." she said, her voice wobbling like a child learning to ride a bike. "Find him!"

\- - - - -

The tall building stood in solitude as various limos approached it. Men in suits exited the vehicles with briefcases held in their hands. They approached a coated man who stood silently, facing the wind.

"Dr. Brenner." A firm handshake followed.

They all entered the building. A bustle of men and scientists weaved through the building's narrow hallways.

"This way, gentlemen. The entire east wing will be evacuated within the hour." spoke one scientist as he led them through the maze of shiny floors and cold walls. "We've sealed off this area following quarantine protocol."

A transparent curtain with a vibrant danger symbol was held over a certain section of the hallway, blocking all access further into the hall. The scientist led the way past it and they all swiftly changed into white clothing that hid all skin from view and contact with the air. Thick, black gloves surrounded their hands and each had a large helmet which had a thin, clear screen to view from. The most startling from their appearance were the guns held tightly in each of their gloved hands. The whole scene screamed danger. They all collected in an elevator and let it direct them to the bottom floor.

The elevator thudded as it landed on their desired floor. Boom. The elevator doors slid open and all of their flashlights aimed outwards as they slowly advanced forwards. The lights overhead continued flashing. Weird gunk layered parts of the wall. The air was dangerously toxic with who knew what and the suited men advanced cautiously. As they continued, they entered a room with the far wall absolutely covered in the stuff. A low growling seemed to be coming from it and it almost seemed like the weird gunk was covering a hole of some sort which contained whatever dangerous thing was making the growling noise.

"This is where it came from?" one of the men spoke.

"Yes."

"And the girl?"

"She can't have gone far."

\- - - - -

A hospital gown flapped against bare legs. The breeze whispered softly in the trees and against a bare neck. Large, wild brown eyes remained rooted upon the restaurant's back door. Not a sound came from her softly parted lips. The young girl was a sight to be seen - her head was shaven and she wore nothing but a loose hospital gown. She had a dangerous and determined look in her soft brown eyes as she stood peculiarly alone in the forest.

The owner of the little restaurant exited the building to take out the trash. The little girl watched him silently, and as soon as he re-entered the building, she silently followed.

Music played softly in the background as the bare-footed girl entered through the back door. She closed the door quietly and firmly behind her as she continued towards the scent of food.

"Hey, Ben. What do you think about that, uh.."

"Hey, I don't know, I don't know."

The little girl turned the corner to see a table containing a couple of older men and a large, balding man with a full beard and an apron wrapped around his large belly. He had a friendly aura about him as he conversed with his customers but the girl only shrunk back as she slid past them, hunting for food.

"I don't know, 37 points per game average -"

"37 now."

"Mr. Basket."

She went completely unnoticed by the men as she found the back room where the food was made. Pushing open the diner looking double doors, she took tentative steps towards a container of fries, completely deserted. She looked around the room warily before gingerly selecting one and eating it. As soon as the warmth and salt entered her mouth, she deserted any caution she'd had previously and went at that container of fries like it was her first meal in days. And honestly, perhaps it was.

The restaurant owner, Benny, turned around and spotted the girl hunched over the plate. Surprise reigned control over his features before he swiftly handled the situation.

"Hey!" he yelled boldly.

The girl's head snapped up, eyes wild with certain fright. She grabbed the container and bolted for it.

"Come here!" He was tall and large and ran after her through the swinging double doors and managed to catch her before she could leave the building. He jerked her towards him, holding her roughly by the shoulders. "You think you can steal from me, boy?" he roared.

The girl's breathing came in short, hard gasps as she stared at him and Denny fulled realized that it wasn't a boy trying to steal from him - it was a girl. 

A girl with a shaved head. A girl wearing a hospital gown and no shoes. A girl with scared brown eyes. A girl with nowhere to go. A girl with nobody to love her.

And suddenly his day got a whole lot more interesting.


	5. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 4

The sixth grade class emptied rapidly as Mr Clarke's voice resounded after them although no one payed* enough attention to hear what he was talking about. "This will be on the test, which will cover chapters ten through twelve. It will be multiple choice with an essay section.." his voice gradually trailed off as he realized nobody was listening in their rush to leave the class.

The only students who remained were Dustin, Mike and Lucas. The three students stood excitedly and expectantly in front of his desk, eyes wild with excitement.

"So, did it come?" Mike asked brightly.

"Sorry, boys." Mr Clarke's voice was laced with sorrow although there was a gleam in his eyes that could not be hidden. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but..."

The boys twitched as disappointment fell heavily over them.

"...it came." The mustached man couldn't help but beam as he awaited their reactions. 

The boys rushed into Mr Clarke's office with as much enthusiasm as puppies on a sugar rush. Mike took a seat on the only chair and slid the headphones over his head so they covered his ears.

"The heathkit ham shack." Mr Clarke announced happily.

"Whoah." Mike breathed with awe as both Dustin and Lucas stared with amazement.

"Ain't she a beaut?" Mr. Clarke chuckled. 

"I bet you can talk to New York on this thing." Dustin cried.

"Think bigger." Mr. Clarke said grandly with a twinkle of amusement gleaming in his dark eyes.

"California?"

"Bigger."

"Australia?"

Mr Clarke folded his arms over his chest as he gave the boys a small nod as a smile lingered on his lips. The boys cried out with abrupt amazement.

"When Will sees this, he's totally gonna blow his shit!" Lucas exclaimed. 

"Lucas!" Mr Clarke said sternly, reprimanding. 

"Sorry." came the boy's swift response although he was truly too awe-struck with the new gadget to put much feeling in it. And Mr Clarke was too content to see their happiness to truly care, either.

Mike leaned towards the microphone and in his best Australian accent, crooned. "Hello, this is Mike Wheela', president of Hawkins Middle AV Club."

Dustin snatched the headphones from Mike's head sooner than he could utter another word and settled them onto his own curly haired head as Lucas cried out "what are you doing?" Grinning, Dustin leaned towards the microphone as Mike had done, and in his own Australian accent said: "Hello, this is Dustin and this is the secretary and treasurer of Hawkins Middle AV Club. Do you eat kangaroos for breakfast?" The boys broke into peals of laughter.

They were genuinely so happy. If only it had lasted a little bit longer.

Lucas reached for the headphones as a knock on the door piqued Mr. Clarke's attention. The principal of Hawkins Middle School entered with Chief Hopper standing directly behind him.

"Sorry to interrupt," came the principal's voice. "But, uh, may I borrow Michael, Lucas and Dustin?"

\- - - - -

Sitting on the couch belonging in the school's office, the three boy's voices overlapped one another as they each tried to speak at the same time.

Jim Hopper obviously wasn't having a fantastic day. Heaving a sigh, he lifted his gaze heavenwards briefly. "Okay, okay, okay. One at a time, alright?" Trying not to roll his eyes, the chief looked towards Mike. "You. He said he takes what?"

"Mirkwood." Mike responded instantly.

"Mirkwood?"

"Yeah."

"Have you ever heard of Mirkwood?" Hopper asked, glancing towards the officer sitting next to him with a notepad in his lap.

"I have not. That sounds made up to me."

"No, it's from _Lord of the Rings_." Lucas explained. 

"Well, _The Hobbit_." Dustin corrected. The boys loved the books enough to have named a road after it.

"It! doesn't! matter!" Lucas snapped, emphasizing each word dramatically. 

"He _asked_!" Dustin responded defensively. 

Shaking his head, Lucas mimicked him. "He asked!" before slouching against the couch once more.

"Shut up, guys!" Mike snapped.

Hopper leaned forwards slightly, his voice raising slowly. "Hey, hey, hey."

"What'd I just say?" Lucas grumbled at Dustin.

"Shut up." came the curly haired boy's only response.

"One at a damn time," Hopper said slowly, obviously frustrated. He was truly an intimidating figure and the boys didn't want to mess with him. "You." he said directly to Mike once again.

"Mirkwood. It's a real road. It's just the name that's made up." came his short response. "It's where Cornwallis and Kerley meet." The whereabouts were necessary considering they'd given it a fake name.

"Yeah, all right, I think I know that -"

"We can show you if you want." Mike suggested quickly, wanting to be a part of finding Will. The other three boys nodded as well. Without one of their members, they weren't complete. And they felt so exasperatedly helpless being unable to do anything about it.

"I said that I know it," Hopper grunted with muted frustration.

"We can help look," Mike responded sincerely.

"Yeah."

"No." Hopper stubbornly refused. He already had enough on his plate, he didn't want to go out looking for this Will kid while babysitting his nerdy friends.

The boys obviously did not feel the same way. As soon as the word 'no' exited Hopper's stern mouth, the three boys all started speaking at once, fighting to declare their opinion. They wanted to help find Will; without the small boy, their group was not the same.

Hands rested calmly on his knees, Hopper refused to hear their pleas. "No. After school you are all to go home. Immediately. That means no biking around looking for your friend, no investigating, no nonsense." The chief spoke slowly, making sure every clear word was displayed just how seriously he meant them. "This isn't some _Lord of the Rings_ book."

Dustin warily mumbled " _The Hobbit_ " in response but Lucas snapped at him to shut up, attempting to hit him.

Sucking in a deep breath, Hopper tried his best to keep his frustration and anger in check. 

Dustin cried "hey!" and fought to reach over Mike who was sitting in the middle of them to hit back. "Stop it!" Mike yelled. The boys were bickering like crazy when Hopper's soft, dangerous voice caught their attention.

"Do I make myself clear?" he spoke in a venomously soft tone, his dark eyes narrowed at them. The boys were silent, staring at the chief with their round eyes widened. Standing up, Chief Hopper took a large step towards them, his gaze held firmly upon theirs. "Do I make myself... clear?"

The three boys gulped, nodding and mumbling "yes, sir" quietly.

Although his tone meant trouble, the boys would grow accustomed to trouble very quickly during the following week. The intimidating chief of Hawkins wasn't going to scare them away from doing all that they could to find their best friend. They would do anything to find Will - whether they risked their lives or not. 

And as the week passed, they would end up risking a lot more than their lives to find Will Byers. But by doing so, they would uncover a whole lot more than their lost friend.


	6. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 5

Tall skeletons of trees stood like raised arms, lifting to touch the sky. It was a cold, gloomy day with overcast skies blanketing the town of Hawkins like a quilt. A solemn mood resonated from the forest as a figure weaved her way through the thin trees, determination and an insane desperation alight in her eyes. The disappearance of Joyce Byer's son had set something off inside of her. _Off_. That was the word. The woman who typically busied herself in work and caring for her family had abandoned any previous state of normalcy - the only thought dominating her mind was the safety of her beloved Will. This random trudge through the forest was not any different. She was accompanied with her elder son, Jonathan. She was not alone, but without the comfort of knowing her youngest son was okay, she felt so desperately and utterly alone. The sole purpose of this mission was to find her son.

So long ago it seemed like an eternity, Will had created a little shack within these woods. Tall, thin sticks had been collected and had helped build a small, closed in structure. It had taken time and effort but in the end, Will's creativity had paid off. A thin curtain blocked anyone from peering in and the words "Castle Byers" were scrawled upon a piece of wood and nailed to the front. It had become his special place - clustered with comics and blankets, he felt safe and happy there. Oh, how badly those safe and happy days would be missed.

As the little shack came into view of the mother and son, a wave of sadness washed over her. Joyce remembered so clearly the previous times she'd visited Will's little home.

_"Ring a ding ding!" Pressing a button to announce her presence, Joyce stood with a smile plastered across her features in front of the trembling curtain that blocked her view from seeing Will. "Anybody home?"_

_"Password?" Will's quiet voice responded from within his little hideout._

_"Uh, rada.. radaga-- Radagast?" Joyce pretended the password had slipped her mind although it was so permanently embedded in her memory she doubted she'd ever forget it._

_"Yeah. You may enter." came Will's content response._

_"Thank you, sir." the woman beamed with quiet affection as she took hold of the curtain and moved it to the side to provide entrance._

_Will was sitting criss-cross applesauce on a blanket, a comic book in his hands. Surrounding him was an assortment of things including comics, drawings he'd done plastered against the stick walls, stuffed animals and books._

_As his mother entered, Will looked up from his comic book, putting it gently to the side._

_"So, guess what?" delightedly, Joyce seated herself by his feet. "I got off work early and... Ta-da! Poltergeist!" she announced, displaying two tickets for the movie Poltergeist for him to see._

_"I.. I thought I wasn't allowed to see it." Confusion and quiet excitement appeared on his soft features as a smile formed._

_"I changed my mind. As long as you don't have nightmares for a week," Joyce teased._

_"No, I won't. I don't get scared like that anymore," the boy responded quickly, glancing down at the two tickets._

_"Oh, yeah? Not even of clowns?" Joyce asked with a quirked brow._

_"No."_

_"What about my witch?" she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she lifted her pointer finger and twirled it at him._

_"No. Mom..." Will said, leaning the tiniest bit away. "I'm not five anymore."_

_"But Will Byers," laughed Joyce as she leaned forwards, "I'm going to cook you up in my--" she began tickling her son._

_"Stop. That's so stupid, mom." Will responded defensively but a large smile had formed as he cried out in protest as she tickled him, his laughter chorusing throughout the shack._

But it was silent. Silent as the grave. Joyce peered into the empty, silent shack. His blanket was wrinkled and the drawings looked limp. The room looked so gray and dark without Will's presence lighting it up with his beautiful, gentle smile.

A sigh escaped Joyce's lips as she stuck her head out of the shack, returning to Jonathan as he called out Will's name into the surrounding trees. Joyce's voice raised to blend with his, calling out her precious son's name. Oh, Will. Where was he?

\- - - - -

Benny's Diner was silent and deserted except for the two forms seated at a table - Benny, himself, and the little girl with the shaved head. The girl's small hands were clasped around a hamburger as she took large, ravenous bites. The large diner owner had his arms folded over his chest, scrutinizing her every moment.

It had come as a surprise to see the little girl dressed in a medical gown of some sort with a shaved head and a hungry look in her eyes. In the many years of his life, he's never gone through anything quite as odd as this. But whatever the poor girl had had to endure, he doubted it had been good.

"Geez." the man grunted as the girl devoured the hamburger like her life depended on it. "Your parents forgot to feed you?"

The girl didn't even look up, too hungry and busy with her one task at hand to care about Benny's presence.

"Is that why you ran away?" Benny continued. "They, uh, they hurt you?"

No response. Another two large bites.

"You went to the hospital, you got scared, you ran off, you wound up here, is that it?" he watched exasperatedly as he was given no response. She merely lifted her head to look at him, her cheek stuffed with hamburger.

"All right," Benny grumbled, taking the hamburger from her loose fingers. "I'll give this back, all right? And you can have as much as you want," he said as she chewed silently. "All right? Maybe even some ice cream. But you gotta answer some of my questions first, all right?"

The girl chewed slowly.

"We got a deal?"

Silence.

"All right, let's start with the easy stuff. All right?" He reached out his hand in the position to shake. "My name's Benny. Benny Hammond."

The girl glanced at his hand with obvious confusion.

"See? Like this, here." Benny said as he reached for her hand. The girl twitched away. "I got you, don't worry. It's okay." he comforted as he placed her hand in his and gave it a little shake. "Nice to meet you, yeah. And you are?"

The girl said nothing, her eyelashes fluttering silently.

Benny heaved a sigh, releasing her hand. Her wrist dropped to the table's surface and almost instantly his gaze dropped to see 011 tattooed on her wrist. As soon as the girl noticed his gaze, her wrist shot back. This whole situation was simply becoming weirder and weirder. A girl with a shaved head, alright. Maybe she had cancer or something. But the fact she didn't seem to speak, hadn't eaten in forever and had a weird number tattooed on her wrist added to his confusion and concern. Benny lifted his hand to rub his nose as he gazed at the girl.

"Eleven? What's that mean?" he asked. When he was given no answer but silence, not for the first time that day, he repeated himself. "What's it mean?"

"No."

It was spoken so softly, Benny barely heard it. But sure enough, the girl who had remained silent for the duration of their "conversation" had finally spoken.

"Well, I'll be damned. She speaks." The smallest of smiles touched his lips. "'No'? No, what?"

The girl stared at him silently, blinking slowly.

"All right then," he said clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I guess no more food, then." He took the woven basket that she'd been eating from, as he stood to leave.

"Eleven."

His head snapped around as he leveled his calm gaze upon her, seating himself back down. "Yeah. What's it mean?"

The girl straigtened in her seat before lifting a finger to pokr at herself. "Eleven." she said again in the soft, wary tone of hers.

Benny nodded ever so slightly, concern for the girl rising in his stomach as understanding fell upon his shoulders. Her name was Eleven. Someone had named this poor little girl Eleven. "All right, then." he said, sliding the food back to Eleven. "Here you go." he said, a small chuckle rising as she grabbed it quickly. "Take it easy, take it easy."

Benny's gaze lifted to stare into space as he heaved a deep sigh. This poor girl. He could only wonder what she'd had to go through. But his guesses would never come close to the truth.

\- - - - -

"Yeah, look, all I know is that she's scared to death." Benny stood by the phone, a phone book opened at a page displaying the social service's number. "Yeah, I think maybe she's been abused or kidnapped or something." he lifted his gaze to land upon the girl. She was still eating, taking smaller and more reserved bites as her fierce hunger slowly faded. They were at a respective distance apart that nothing he was saying could be heard. "Yeah, it'd be great if someone could come by." he said, rubbing his creased forehead. "Yeah, we're at 4819 Randolph Lane." he paused. "Yeah, Randolph."

The girl licked her finger, salted from the french fries she was eating. A content expression was placed upon her features. The contentedness was disturbed as a fan across the room rattled as it twirled around, creating an annoying and unceasing sound. Eleven lifted her head, leveling her firm gaze upon the fan. Her chin lowered as her gaze centered fully upon it. And the fan very quickly rattled to a stop, cutting off all sound. Seeming pleased and not at all surprised, the quiet girl's content expression returned as she lifted a french fry to take a bite.

Whoever the girl was, whatever her story was, whoever she would become - it was most certainly obvious that she was unusually strange.


	7. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 6

The cold air nipped at the officer's noses as they strode across the empty road, boots crunching against dead leaves. Officer Callahan and Officer Powell's voices rose into the air, calling out a little boy's name. Will Byers. Their voices embraced the air, clear and pronounced - hunting for the name's owner.

Where was that darn child? Chief Hopper took a breath of the cold air, sliding a pill bottle out of his pocket as he peered down the road. He popped off the lid, entering one into his mouth before turning his determined, dark gaze upon the road ahead. It was here the boy had last been seen. He swallowed the pill before his eyes narrowed as something caught his gaze. "Hey! I got something." he called over his shoulder before quickly striding off the road to join the tall, lonesome trees. Just off the side of the road lay a bike on it's side. Hopper knew without a doubt it belonged to the Byer kid.

"That his bike?" one of his fellow officers asked as they quickly joined him to peer down at the solemn spectacle.

"Yeah, he must have crashed." Hopper responded before lifting his gaze to search the surrounding trees. A sign, a hint, a clue, anything that could help him understand what had happened here the previous night.

"You think he got hurt in the fall?" Callahan asked.

"Not so hurt he couldn't walk away. Bike like this is like a Cadillac to these kids." came Hopper's reply, his gaze hunting through the dead leaves and the tall trees for a souvenir of Will's presence here the night before. He'd seen those kids pedaling across town with their sturdy bikes. "He would've walked it home." he added before falling silent, as did his companions. There was not a trace, no hint, no clue, no memory or marking that Will Byers had been here. What in the world had happened to Will causing him to crash and desert his bike?

But no matter how long Hopper stared at the quiet woods, no answer was given.

\- - - - -

The military compound was alive.

A row of people with headphones over their ears, listened intently to conversations that were obviously not theirs. Each voice blended with the others, making it difficult to distinguish each conversation and subject. Mere snippets were able to be understood.

"...get off work if I win."

"Oh, Friday, I'm supposed to..."

"...but we will cover whatever the damages are to your property."

"It's just, um..."

"That's for sure."

Each person within the row had a notepad in front of them, scribbling tidbits and notes. It was almost as if they were listening to separate telephone conversations happening in Hawkins without the knowledge of the two speakers. And perhaps they were.

A new line rung and Joyce's voice entered a woman's headphones. 

"Is Lonnie there?"

"Lonnie isn't here right now." A female's voice responded.

"Can you please--"

"I told you, Lonnie's not here." Frustration seeped through every word.

"Who is this?"

"His girlfriend, Cynthia."

"Cynthia." In ther Byer's house, Joyce was close to tears. The past few hours had been insanely difficult for the poor woman. She was dressed in her work uniform, speaking to her ex-husband's girlfriend who simply refused to co-operate while her son was missing. It was like her life was falling apart.

"Who the hell is this?"

"Cynthia, this is Joyce."

Jonathan who was sitting on the couch looked up to turn his solemn gaze upon his distressed mother.

"Who?"

"Lonnie's ex-wife. I really need to speak to him--"

"Lonnie's not here."

Jonathan turned his gaze back upon what he was attempting to focus on - a sheet of paper. Across the top were the neat words: HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

"Can you please put--"

"Why don't you call back later?"

"No, not later. Now! Can--"

The line disconnected before Joyce could properly finish her sentence. She slammed the telephone back into it's stand. "Bitch!"

"Mom!" Jonathan's concerned gaze pinpointed upon his stressed mother. It was true, she really was falling apart.

"What?" the woman snapped, shoulders heaving as the anxiousness from everything that had recently happened fell upon her frail body.

"You have to stay calm."

Joyce chuckled as if his comment was the funniest thing in the world before picking the telephone up from it's stand to try again.

Jonathan's gaze remained glued to her frame, as he heaved a deep sigh.

Joyce fidgeted as nobody picked up the line and it went to Lonnie's answering machine. Lonnie's voice resounded in her ears. "Hey, you've reached Lonnie. Leave a message and I'll holler back at ya."

Sucking in a breath, Joyce spoke. "Lonnie, some teenager just hung up on me. Will is... is missing. I don't know where he is." Speaking the fact out loud seemed to solidify the fact it was true. It was happening. Her voice broke as emotion cascaded over her. "I need... I just need you to call me back, please just -" The answering machine beeped as the line disconnected. Joyce swore as she slammed the telephone back into it's stand.

The sound of car wheels rolling over gravel caught Jonathan's attention as he lifted his head to gaze out of their main window. "Mom?"

"What?"

"Cops."

One word can do so much to someone's heart. The cops held answers to the questions that were a constant track in Joyce's mind. What if they knew where Will was? What if they had Will? The one word 'cops' sent Joyce to the door before a second had passed. She thrust open the door and watched frantically as the officers exited their vehicle. No Will. Simple an abandoned, lonesome bike. Not just any bike. _Will's_ bike. Her lips trembled as disappointment fell suddenly, replacing the previous dash of hope. Gone.

\- - - - -

"It was just lying there?" Joyce stared fearfully at the Chief as he glanced around their dim, shabby home.

"Yeah. Cal?" The officer nodded as Hopper directed him to help examine the house.

"Did it have any blood on it, or -"

"No, no, no, no, no..." It was said quickly but without much emotion or interest. His tone seemed to remain the same - unchanging and firm. At least it was _one_ thing that didn't seem to be constantly changing and shifting on Joyce.

"Phil?" Hopper continued to stride forwards with Joyce and Jonathan following his every footstep.

"If you found the bike out there," Joyce questioned. "Why are you here?"

"Well, he had a key to the house, right?" Hopper asked as he entered their small kitchen. Jonathan was quick to reply with a soft 'yeah'.

"So..." Hopper continued as he strode to peer out of the curtained kitchen window. "Maybe he came home."

Joyce stammered with accusation and piercing frustration in her voice. "You think I didn't check my own house?"

"I'm not saying that," Hopper replied calmly. His gaze landed upon a dent on the wall from a door handle smacking against it at one point. "Has this always been here?"

"What? I don't know?" Joyce responded as her gaze landed on the same marking. She was getting more and more frustrated with every minute that passed with these officers hunting through her house. "Probably. I mean, I have two boys. Look at this place." She said, gesturing with her arms spread wide.

"You're not sure?" Hopper replied simply, lightly swinging the door to see it's handle perfectly fit the marking.

Joyce heaved a deep sigh before their dog's loud barks caught Hopper's attention. He went through the back door where the Byer's dog stood. The dog's shrill bark pounded the air as his tail wagged ferociously and his jaw revealed his lolling tongue.

"Hey." Hopper said as he glanced at what the dog was obviously focused on - the Byer's little shed. "Hey, what's up with this guy, huh?" the chief mumbled as he took off his hat with one hand and crouched down to stroke the dog's fur.

"Nothing, he's probably just hungry. Come on," Joyce said as she grabbed the dog and led him away.

Crouched on the ground, Hopper's gaze remained on the shed before he straightened and strode towards it. Why had the dog been so loud about something that had been in their backyard for ages? He slid open the old door and silently entered the old shelter, turning on the one light bulb to illuminate part of the dim shed. He picked up an opened box of pistols, his gaze narrowed thoughtfully. Why was it lying here? Had it been opened recently? Last night, to be specific? The light bulb flickered on and off before dying. Brow furrowed, Chief Hopper picked up a stray flashlight, turning it on and pointing it's dim rays around the shed. It was scarily dark, despite the flashlight's rays. There was an odd, eery feeling surrounding him that he didn't like at all. The light bulb flickered back to life as the shed door opened to view Callahan.

"Hey!" Callahan said loudly.

Hopper cried out as the sudden, bright light and loud voice scared him from his search.

"What are you, deaf? I've been calling you." Callahan said, choosing to ignore Hopper's brief scare. "What's going on?"

Hopper exhaled deeply as he strode past Callahan to exit the shed without a word.

"Hello?" mumbled Callahan as he turned to follow his chief. "Are you sure you're okay, Chief?"

"Listen, I want you to call Flo." Hopper directed his firm order at his officer, refusing to answer the question. He was completely distracted with the thoughts and questions raging within his head. Perhaps this case would be more interesting than he'd previously assumed it would be. "I want to get a search party together, all right? All the volunteers she can muster. Bring flashlights, too."

Callahan spoke quickly, attempting to receive Hopper's attention this time. "Hey, you think we have a problem here?"

The question was directly ignored once again as the three cops entered Joyce's house for the second time that day. There was no getting an answer from Officer Hopper when he was lost in his thoughts - but what could possible be the thoughts reigning control in his head?

No matter what they were, it seemed as if Hopper had finally realized this was a case he needed to be invested in. Whatever was happening to the Byer's son - he _would_ find out. And he would bring that boy home safe and sound.

No matter the cost.


	8. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 7

"We should be out there right now. We should be helping look for him."

The Wheeler family was seated for dinner. It was dark and cold outside but within their well furnished house, with a table laden with food, there was no reason to think anything but pleasant thoughts. Except the recent disappearance of Will Byers cast a gloomy mood over Mike Wheeler's thoughts. It had naturally affected all of Hawkins but more so one of Will's best friends. The fact it was still uncertain whether the boy was actually alive or not simply added tension to the charged air. It was as if all of Hawkins was holding their breath.

"We've been over this, Mike. The chief says-" Karen Wheeler attempted to control her son's rebellious intentions. There was no way she was letting him out into those woods, not after this.

"I don't care what the Chief said." her son protested.

"Michael!" she responded sternly, cutting her chicken into strips.

"We have to do something. Will can be in danger." using his hands to emphasize his point, Mike pleaded with his mother. Concern and worry was plastered across his features as Karen felt her heart ache for her poor son. There was the tiniest glimmer of hope in her eyes, too. The thought of having your best friend die at such a young age was a traumatic concept - she wasn't going to fuel him with more hope by letting him go searching for Will. No, Michael would stay home.

"More reason to stay put."

"Mom!"

"End of discussion." she was firm with this as she returned her attention to her chicken. She glanced at her husband who was taking a gulp from his glass; he hadn't helped her at all while she argued with Mike. Sometimes she felt, he could be so useless.

"So... me and Barbara are gonna study at her house tonight." Nancy said, lifting her gaze from her half-empty plate. Mike's sister had plans of her own. "That's cool, right?"

"No, not cool." Karen replied, refusing.

"What? Why not?"

"Why do you think? Am I speaking Chinese in this house" Frustration erupted in her stomach as her voice rose in volume. Their youngest daughter stared quietly at the spectacle, unsure of what was happening and scared by her mother's tone. "Until we know Will is okay, no one leaves." she finished.

"This is such bull," Nancy quipped.

"Language."

"So we're under house arrest?" Nancy cried. She shot her brother a look. "Just because Mike's friend got lost on the way home from-"

"Wait, this is Will's fault?" Mike cried, a furious expression on his typically gentle features.

"Nancy, take that back." Karen ordered.

"No!"

"You're just pissed off 'cause you wanna hang out with Steve." Mike shot at Nancy.

Nancy gave her younger brother a look that clearly meant 'cut-it-out-or-I'm-going-to-kill-you-in-your-sleep'. Sadly enough, it was too late to take it back. And he was so bitter, himself, he probably wouldn't have if he'd been given the chance.

"Steve?" questioned Ted, his attention finally piqued.

"Who is Steve?" Karen added questioningly, her eyes narrowed as she watched her two eldest children closely.

"Her new boyfriend." Mike replied without hesitance. 

"You are such a douchebag, Mike!" Nancy cried, glaring at her younger brother with the full ferocity of an enraged lion.

"Language!" Ted shot at his eldest daughter, earning a heaved groan from her parted lips. She stood up, her chair sliding backwards with a scraping sound before exiting the room without a word as Karen sternly cried at her back with no answer in return.

Little Holly, sitting in a tall stool glanced fearfully as her older sister angrily stalked away.

"It's okay. It's okay, Holly. Here, have some juice, okay?" Karen murmured with a sigh as she tried to restore the peace that had so quickly crumbled.

"You see, Michael?" Ted said, chewing carefully as he extended a glance towards Mike. "You see what happens?"

His father's comment set him off even more. "What happens when what?" Mike shouted. "I'm the only one acting normal here! I'm the only one that cares about Will!"

"That is really unfair, son." Ted replied calmly. "We care." he said, popping food into his mouth.

Mike sucked in a breath, staring at his father for a mere second before slamming his palms down on the table as he pushed himself up and exited the dining room in the same manner as his sister.

"Mike!" Karen cried helplessly. 

"Let him go." Ted said in the same calm, bored tone. He chewed loudly, gazing at his plate. Karen had had enough of this for one night. "I hope you're enjoying your chicken, Ted." she said, a hostile edge in her voice before she snatched Holly up in her arms and vanished, leaving Ted's voice trailing after her.

"Hey! What'd I doooOoo..."

\- - - - - 

The night was dark and cold. A thick blanket of darkness smothered the woods as volunteers avoided tall trees as they stumbled forwards. Flashlight beams wandered across the terrain as the Hawkins citizens yelled their voices raw in search of one particular boy. Will Byers.

"Will!"

"Will Byers!"

"Will, we're here for you, bud!"

Among the group of organized volunteered citizens was the boy's teacher, Mr Clarke. And beside him, Chief Jim Hopper.

"He's a good student." Mr Clarke said as they walked alongside each other, shining their flashlights past the tall, shadowy trees.

"What?"

"Will. He's a good student." There was a pause. "Great one, actually." The mustached man glanced towards his companion. "I don't think we've met. Scott Clarke. Teacher, Hawkins Middle. Earth and Biology." The two men held flashlights but in any other case their two hands would have found the other to offer a firm shake.

"I always had a distaste for science." Hopper muttered.

"Well, maybe you had a bad teacher." Mr Clarke suggested brightly.

"Yeah, Ms Ratliff was a piece of work."

"Ms Ratliff? You bet." Mr Clarke chuckled. "She's still kicking around, believe it or not."

"Oh, I believe it. Mummies never die, so they tell me." Hopper had a nonchalant way of speaking like he truly couldn't be bothered about the conversation. But the humor was evident nonetheless. "My daughter, Sarah..." he continued. "Galaxies, the universe, whatnot... She always understood all that stuff. I always figured there was enough going on down here, I never needed to look elsewhere."

"Your daughter, what grade is she? Maybe I'll get her in my class."

A tinge of awkwardness entered Hopper's tone as he replied. "No, she, uh... She lives with her mom in the city." There was a measured inhale. "Thanks for coming out, teach. We really appreciate it." The tall figure moved away to walk on his own - joining the ghost-like trees and his own, solemn thoughts.

"She died a few years back."

"Sorry?" Mr. Clarke glanced around to see the source of the voice. An unfamiliar woman had joined him.

The woman murmured two words before vanishing to leave Mr Clarke on his own. But her words echoed continually in the teacher's head.

"His kid."


	9. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 8

"Lucas, do you copy? It's Mike." The young boy was seated at the table in his basement, his beloved walkie talkie held up to his ear. Only the night before, the boys had been playing Dungeons and Dragons on the same table. But it felt like a decade had passed since then.

"Hey. It's Lucas." the boys response was prompt.

"I know it's you. And say 'over' when you're done talking so I know when you're done. Over."

"I'm done. Over." There was an evident eyeroll in his words.

"I'm worried about Will. Over."

There was a sigh. "Yeah. This is crazy. Over."

"I was thinking... Will could've cast protection last night, but he didn't. He cast fireball." the concern for his best friend laced every word. There was no mistaking that they'd been close. "Over."

"What's your point? Over." Despite Lucas's confusion, his attention was piqued.

"My point is... He could've played it safe. But he didn't. He put himself in danger to save the party. Over."

"Meet me in ten. Over and out."

Mike grabbed a backpack containing a flashlight, his walkie talkie and an assortment of other vital things that would possibly be needed and he was out the door and on his bike without a word. Pedaling swiftly, he headed off with grim determination. He paused to shoot a glance at Steve who was climbing the side of the house towards Nancy's window. The two shared a brief glance before Mike rode off. He had far more important things to do than dwell on his sister's love life - he needed to find Will.

\- - - - -

Shifting the Q-cards in her hands, Nancy Wheeler stared at the blurred words. She attempted to process and memorize their meanings but it was difficult when her mind was struggling to think about other things. Music normally helped but today it certainly wasn't functioning.

Tap tap tap.

Glancing up from her notes, Nancy's gaze shot to the window. Steve's familiar face peered at her from behind the thick glass. Surprise twisted her stomach into knots as he gestured for her to approach. She swiftly reached him to slide her window upwards.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered. "I told you on the phone, I'm under house arrest now." Simply thinking about her parents caused anger to flutter in her chest but Steve's helpless grin melted it away.

"I figured we'd just study here." he suggested brightly.

"No. No way." Nancy hissed. But there was no venom in her words. 

"Oh, come on. I can't have you failing this test." he said as he hoisted himself into her room. "So just... bear with me." In a very un-agile fashion, he stumbled over the cushion in front of the window, the windowpane rattling loudly. "What'd I tell you?" he grinned as he stood tall and straightened his jacket before jabbing two thumbs at himself. "Ninja."

Nancy scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pushed down the window to it's original position.

\- - - - -

Eleven devoured the ice cream like her life depended on it.

Benny stood by the sink with a hose in hand, washing the many dishes. He shot the girl a glance. She scooped a gigantic spoonful of ice cream and shoved it into her mouth. She was sitting on the counter wearing an old, yellow shirt of his. It went to her knees it was so large on her small frame. It hurt his heart to see such a young girl eating with such desperation; like it didn't happen all that often.

"You like that ice cream, huh?" he said, finishing up with the dishes.

A tiny smile curved the edges of Eleven's mouth. She said nothing but the smile was enough.

"Smile looks good on you."

Her smile faded and a confused expression graced her features.

"You know, smile?" Benny stared at the girl for a second before offering a large, awkward smile as a demonstration.

Another tiny smile appeared on Eleven's lips. Benny chuckled helplessly. There was a quiet, happy presence in the room as Benny flung his washcloth over his shoulder and turned back to the kitchen. But before the atmosphere could last for long, a knock at the door startled the both of them as their heads snapped towards the source.

Eleven glanced at Benny with fear plastered across her face.

"All right. You just sit tight." he said comfortingly. "Whoever it is, I'll tell 'em to go away real quick, all right?" he said, settling the washcloth on the counter next to her before striding towards the door. It knocked again and he muttered a 'yeah, yeah, yeah'. He'd completely forgotten about his previous call. He'd called for them and here they were to take El away. The large man had no idea what was in store for him. He had no idea that his last words to the little girl would be a smile and words of comfort.

Benny opened the door to display a short woman in stature with shoulder-length, gray hair. "Hey, can I help you?"

"Hi, you must be Benny Hammond." the woman beamed.

"I'm afraid I am. I'm afraid we're closed for the evening, too. So try back tomorrow morning."

"Connie Frazer. Social Services."

Benny's eyes widened as realization hit him. "Ah, social services. My apologies. I didn't expect you so soon. That's a heck of a drive." There was a tiny flame of sadness in his heart but he knew he was doing the right thing.

"Not too bad this time of night." the woman replied easily.

"Hey, listen, I - I haven't told her that you're coming yet." Benny explained as he shot a glance over his shoulder to view the small girl. She was staring at the two of them, wide-eyed. "I didn't want her running off again. She's a tad skittish." he spoke quietly and considering the distance between the two adults and Eleven, there was no way she could hear them.

"Children I work with usually are."

"Right, right."

There was a pause as Benny stood in the doorway, gaze trained on the little woman. He was unwilling to cause Eleven even more fear than she'd already experienced becoming used to Benny. But this was what was right for Eleven.

"So, where is she?" Connie said with an impatient smile.

"Right. She's in the kitchen. Come on up. I'll introduce you." He turned and headed towards the kitchen counter where Eleven was seated.

"Thank you." Connie responded.

"Sorry again for trying to turn you away there." Benny apologized with a polite smile.

"It's fine."

"You know, it's funny. Your, uh, voice sounds different on the --"

Bam.

The woman's gun was held firmly in her weathered hands as Benny toppled to the ground. Eleven jumped, panic erupting. She bolted for it. Through the double doors, past the cluttered shelves - her heart leaped in her chest as two men with guns seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Dr Brenner entered the building, examining the large body of Benny on the ground and "Connie" with the gun. His face was emotionless - a mask of stone. His head lifted as a thud and groan from behind the shelves caught his attention. He walked swiftly forwards to see the two men who had formerly held guns, lying on the ground. Dead.

The door leading outside was open. He reached it quickly and took a few steps into the cold night. The girl was gone.

Gone. Like a bird catching flight. She had joined the shadows and the darkness of the forest. And the quiet of her aching heart. 

Gone.


	10. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 9

Three bike lights wove through the darkness, cutting through the shadows and replacing it with feeble light.

"Ah, man. This is it." Lucas said as the three bikes slid to a stop. A red and white lined construction board had been put up in front of the woods to refuse access. Thunder rumbled in the distance and an ominous feeling settled upon the three boys' shoulders.

"Hey, guys." Dustin said as he tipped his head back with a frown heavenwards. "You feel that?" He wiped at his cheek where a raindrop had fallen. "I think maybe we should go back."

"No." Mike said persistently, shooting Dustin a look. "We're not going back. Just stay close. Come on." Mike got off his bike and held a flashlight firmly in his hand as he lead the way towards the dark woods. "Just stay on channel six. Don't do anything stupid." Dedicated to the task at hand, he ducked under the red board and set off with his hood covering his head.

Dustin panted as he stared at Mike and Lucas as they headed into the dark. The frightening thunder echoed somewhere far off. The curly haired boy offered a quick sigh. "Hey, guys, wait up!" He called as he ducked under the board and ran after them. "Wait up!"

\- - - - -

"Which polymers occur naturally?"

Steve was lounged across Nancy's bed with a Q-card in his hand.

"Starch and cellulose." Nancy replied after a second of thought.

Steve murmured a "mmm" as he shifted to view the next, neatly written Q-card. "In a molecule of CH4, the hydrogen atoms are spatially oriented towards the centers of --"

"Tetrahedrons."

"Wow," Steve said as he examined the backside of the card and glanced at the rest in his hand. "Gosh, how many of these did you make?"

"You said you wanted to help!" Nancy protested.

Steve glanced at her over the top of the cards. "How about this? How about... How about every time you get something right, I have to take off an article of clothing. But every time that you get something wrong --"

"Uh, pass." Nancy laughed.

"Oh, come on." Steve said innocently, scooting over closer to her. "Come on."

"No," she said, despite smiling.

"Come on, it'll be fun."

"No."

"During fractional distillation, hydrocarbons are separated according to their --"

"Melting point." Nancy rose her eyebrows at him.

Steve glanced at the card and then back at her, lifting his eyebrows back at her. "Ooh, it's boiling point."

"That's what I meant."

"Yeah, that's not what you said." he said, once again in that innocent tone of his.

"No."

"No?"

"Oh, do you need... Do you need help, or..." He lifted himself up to scoot even closer towards her.

"No," Nancy said, smiling.

There was a pause, a silent moment of expectancy as their faces leaned towards the other before Steve kissed Nancy's smiling mouth and she kissed back. The sweet moment lasted only a little moment before Nancy gently pushed Steve back.

"Steve, Steve, come on."

"What?"

"Are you crazy? My parents are here."

Steve slowly turned around to shoot the room a careful glance. "That's weird, I... don't see them." He leaned back to press his lips to Nancy's. This time, she was more persistent. She pushed him backwards with a somewhat hostile expression on her features.

"Was this your plan all along? To... to get in my room and then... get another notch on your belt."

"No. Nancy, no." Steve protested calmly, back into his original position, splayed out lazily on her bed.

"I'm not Laurie, or Amy, or Becky." Nancy continued.

"You mean, you're not a slut."

There was a pause. "That's not what I'm saying."

"You know, you're so cute when you lie." Steve said, gazing at her.

"Shut up." she said, although the smile refused to leave her lips.

Steve grabbed a teddy bear lying on her bed and put it up under his chin. He aimed a pout at Nancy. "Bad Steve." He groaned. "Bad. Don't do that to Miss Nancy..."

Nancy couldn't help but laugh. "You're an idiot, Steve Harrington."

"You are beautiful, Nancy Wheeler." the pout had vanished, replaced with genuine and pure sincerity in his gaze. The two shared a gaze for a moment longer before Steve straightened with a grunt and grabbed the Q-cards. "Compared to the rate of inorganic reactions, the rate of organic reactions is generally..."

\- - - - -

Thunder rumbled and rain fell. The dismal mood outside was no different than the dismal mood contained in the Byer household. If anything, the sadness shared inside was even deeper.

Jonathan and Joyce Byers sat upon their couch with pictures scattered across the tabletop. Scenery, buildings, objects, Will...

"Jonathan, wow, you took these? These are great." Joyce sniffled as she ran her hand across some of the pictures' smooth and glossy surfaces. "Wow, they really are." She inhaled carefully, sadness welling in her eyes in the form of tears. "I know I haven't been there for you, I've been... working so hard and I - I just feel bad." she stammered apologetically. "I don't even - barely know what's going on with you." She lifted her gaze from the many photographs to look at her eldest son. "All right? I am sorry about that."

Jonathan had his elbows on his knees as he leaned over, emotion tugging at his heartstrings as he stared down at the many pictures he'd taken over the course of his life. His lip trembled as he tried to reign in the suffocating emotions.

"Hey, what is it?" Joyce murmured with concern. "What is it, honey?"

Jonathan lifted his shoulders in an empty shrug. "Nothing." he sniffled as he his gaze remained locked upon the tabletop. 

"Tell me." his mother persisted. "Tell me. Come on, you can --"

"No. It's just..." Jonathan's feeble voice broke and trembled. "I should've been there for him."

"No. Oh, no," Joyce said hoarsely. "You can't do that to yourself. This was not your fault, you hear me? He is - close. I know it. I - I feel it in my heart." she sniffled. "You just have to - you have to trust me on this, okay?" The mother wrapped her arms around her son and held him tight. Their two bodies trembled with a pure and deep sadness that none could ever imagine. Joyce perked up as she smiled through tears. "Oh, look at this," she reached for a picture and held it up. "Look at this. Look at this."

They both laughed feebly at the picture of Will. He was wearing an orange shirt and beamed at the camera. There was a pure childlike innocence radiating from the picture. They'd been sifting through pictures to find one they could put up around town. MISSING: Will Byers.

"I mean, that's it, right?" Joyce said as she clamped a hand over her smiling mouth.

"Yeah." Jonathan leaned his head against her shoulder as they both gazed at the picture.

"That's it. That's the one."

A clear ringing erupted through the peaceful silence. The telephone. Joyce leaped from her seat, running towards the telephone. She grabbed it and held it up to her ear. "Hello?" she panted.

Her voice was met with telephone static.

"Hello?" she continued frantically. If there was any information about Will, she needed to know.

"Lonnie?"

"Dad?" Jonathan mumbled as he looked up towards Joyce.

"Hopper?" Joyce continued, panic spiking through every word.

There was muffled breathing and telephone static mixed together. Joyce's heart pumped a mile a minute.

"Who is this?"

The ragged breathing continued as did Joyce's nerves. Jonathan had gotten up and quickly approached her as he could see something was wrong.

"Will?" Joyce held the telephone tightly to her ear, breathing heavily.

"It's Will?" Jonathan asked, eyes wide.

Joyce began sobbing hysterically as the breathing continued. "Who is this?" she screamed into the phone.

There was a low, terrifying growling from the phone.

"What have you done with my boy?" she screamed.

"What? What?" Jonathan was wild-eyed and frightened by his mother's behavior. 

"Give me back my son!" she sobbed.

Electricity surged through the phone. Yelping, the phone dropped from the woman's hands and bounced against the wall, still connected to the cord. Jonathan grabbed the spiral cord, snatching the telephone towards his ear. "Hello? Hello, who is this?" he cried desperately.

The phone was dead.

"Mom, who was it? Who was it, Mom?"

Joyce was flustered and sobbing as she tried to reach for the phone. Jonathan grabbed her by the shoulders and held her steady.

"It was him." she sobbed.

"Look at me, Mom. Was it Will?"

"Yes!"

"What did he say?" he pressured.

"He just breathed - he just breathed." she was shaking and sobbing so badly she could barely utter a word.

"And was someone else there?"

"I -" she tried reaching for the phone again but Jonathan stopped her.

"Mom, who was there? Who was it?"

"It was him. I know it was his breathing." Joyce was sobbing hysterically as Jonathan wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in a sturdy hug. "I know it was his breathing."

Mother and son, shaking and sobbing, terrified and confused. They held onto each other desperately and the world took a second to hold it's breath.


	11. The Vanishing of Will Byers - Chapter 10

Thunder grumbled threateningly in the distance as lightning zigzagged across the sky, illuminating the trees with a ghosty, pale light. The sound of rain pounding against feeble leaves and hitting the solid ground surrounded the three boys. Their voices were raised, blending in with mother nature's harmony.

"Will!"

"Will!"

"Byers!"

Despite their drenched figures and the cold seeping through their thin clothing, they continued hunting through the shadows with only flashlights' feeble light to guide their way.

"I've got your X-Men 134!" Dustin called. He panted, gaze wandering across the soaked woods. There was not a single object that escaped the pounding rain's unrelenting wrath. "Guys, I really think we should turn back."

"Seriously, Dustin?" Lucas retorted. "You wanna be a baby, then go home already!"

"I'm just being realistic, Lucas!" Dustin argued.

"No, you're just being a big sissy."

The cold mixed with the dark and pouring rain created a very unsettling, stomach churning feeling. "Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad?" Dustin questioned solemnly. "And we're going to the exact same spot he was last seen? And we have no weapons or anything?"

"Dustin, shut up." Mike snapped, seemingly focused on something.

"I'm just saying, does that seem smart to you?"

"Shut up!" Mike continued in an intense tone. "Shut up."

Dustin fell silent and the three boys paused for a brief moment. Amidst the background roaring of the rain and thunder, a faint rustling sound could be heard.

"Did you guys hear that?" Mike mumbled anxiously.

A rustling sound far closer than the previous sound came from behind them. They twirled around, their flashlights aiming at the trees. Another rustling from what seemed like a different direction. Wild-eyed, they spun around to aim their flashlights at the source of the noise. Mike's gaze locked upon the frightened look of another.

All three flashlights shone upon a girl - her head shaved, water dripping down her frightened features, a huge yellow shirt clinging to her soaked frame and a look in her eye that practically yelled for desperately needed help.

Eleven.


	12. The Weirdo on Maple Street - Chapter 1

"Is there a number we can call for your parents?"

The girl was seated on Mike's basement's couch, a jacket of Mike's draped across her thin shoulders. Fear was evidently riddled upon her features; in her large doe-eyes and in her resolute silence. She hadn't spoken a word since the boys had stumbled across her in their hunt for Will - she simply continued to breathe heavily, glancing at each of their curious, young faces. They were starting to doubt she could talk at all.

"Where's your hair?" Dustin questioned curiously. Then, he added, in an intense, shocked tone; " _do you have cancer_?"

"Did you run away?" Lucas asked.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" Mike asked sincerely, wide-eyed.

"Is that blood?" Lucas demanded, leaning forwards to point at a stain near the yellow shirt's neckline.

"Stop it!" Mike snapped towards his friend. "You're freaking her out."

"She's freaking _me_ out!" Lucas cried, exasperated. 

"I bet she's deaf." Dustin mumbled, shifting his attention from his two friends towards the girl. He clapped his hands sharply towards her. She reared back, gaze locked upon the boy. "Not deaf," he concluded.

"All right, that's enough, all right?" Mike glanced at the girl solemnly. "She's just scared and cold." The dark haired boy turned and jogged towards a basket containing clothing items.

Thunder growled in the distance and the girl screwed her eyes shut, seemingly scared. Dustin and Lucas watched her silently.

Mike returned rapidly, holding a deep blue sweatshirt and rolled up pants of his. "Here, these are clean, okay?" The boy handed over the pair of recently washed clothing which was accepted hesitantly. The girl gazed for a moment at the items in her hands before lifting them to her face, pressing her cheek against the soft fabric. Silent, the boys watched her with mystified expressions painted on their features. The girl pushed the jacket off of her shoulders and stood up, reaching for the bottom of her incredibly long shirt and lifting upwards.

"No, no, no!"

The boys exploded as Lucas and Dustin whirled around, a train of "oh my god"s erupting from Dustin's mouth as Mike grabbed at Eleven's hands to stop her from continuing. 

"See over there? That's the bathroom." Mike stammered as he pointed to the bathroom with one hand as flustered as the girl was frightened. "Privacy. Get it?"

For a small moment that lasted merely several seconds but felt like an eternity, the two gazes were locked upon one another. The mysterious and strange girl with no understanding of their basic society and the solemn-eyed boy with a heart too large for his chest.

Breaking their stare, the girl wandered towards the bathroom, her head tipped to view her surroundings as if the idea of carpeted floors and open doors was a new concept for her.

Mike, who had reached the bathroom door, reached to pull it shut. Instinctively, the girl's hand shot out to grip the door, blocking it from closing. Urgency was written in every detail of her face as if she couldn't bear to have the door closed behind her.

"You don't want it closed?"

There was a quiet intake before the girl finally spoke, her soft voice riddled with quiet determination. "No."

"Oh, so you can speak." Mike's wide-eyed expression revealed his surprise. "Okay, well... Um, how about we just keep the door..." he slowly narrowed the gap between the door and the doorframe until there was a narrow space. "Just like this." Eleven had kept her hand planted on the door, wary that he would completely close it. But he didn't. "Is that better?"

"Yes." she'd spoken again in the quiet, soft voice of hers Mike was so unfamiliar with hearing.

The two exchanged another brief stare - two electric gazes connecting before Mike turned to leave the girl with some privacy and space.

"This is mental," Dustin mumbled.

"At least she can talk," Mike replied defensively. Some inner part of him felt it was his need to defend the harmless girl against his friend's lack of judgment. 

"She said 'no' and 'yes'. Your three-year-old sister says more." Lucas argued.

"She tried to get naked." Dustin exclaimed.

"There's something seriously wrong with her." Lucas added. "Like wrong in the head." He lifted a finger to point at his brain.

"She just went like..." Dustin imitated the previous gesture the girl had made to take off her shirt before she'd been abruptly stopped. In the process, he knocked his hat off his curly haired head.

"I bet she escaped from Pennhurts." Lucas murmured seriously.

"From where?" Mike sounded tired.

"The nuthouse in Kerley county."

"You got a lot of family there?" Dustin joked.

"Bite me. Seriously though, think about it. That would explain her shaved head and why she's so crazy." Lucas's voice became more and more agitated as he continued - clinging to his theory with all his might. Mike, on the other hand, offered a sigh.

"Why she went like..." Dustin mimicked the action of taking a shirt off again, his hat remaining on the carpeted floor behind him. 

"She's an escapee is the point. She's probably a psycho."

"Like Michael Myers," Dustin breathed in awe.

"Exactly! We should've never brought her here."

"So you just wanted to leave her out in that storm?" Mike cried helplessly. It wasn't fun being the only one defending his point but he stuck to his gut.

"Yes! We went out to find Will, not another problem."

"I think we should tell your mom." Dustin mumbled.

"I second that."

"Who's crazy now?" Mike cried.

"How is that crazy?" Lucas's voice rose to meet Mike's volume.

"'Cause, we weren't supposed to be out tonight, remember?" Exhaustion was riddled across Mike's features.

"So?"

"So if I tell my mom and she tells your mom and your mom..." he leveled his gaze upon the two boys.

"Oh, man." Dustin uttered.

"Our houses become Alcatraz." Lucas concluded with a stroke of realization.

"Exactly. We'll never find Will."

Dustin glanced over at Lucas, mouth open, and lifted his hands over his head as if removing his shirt. Again. 

"All right, here's the plan." Mike commenced. "She sleeps here tonight."

"You're letting a girl --" Dustin's voice had risen.

"Just listen!" Mike argued. "In the morning, she sneaks around my house, goes to the front door and rings my doorbell. My Mom will answer and know _exactly_ what to do. She'll send her back to Pennhurts or wherever she comes from. We'll be totally in the clear. And tomorrow night, we go back out." Mike's voice remained steady and determined as he continued. "And this time, _we find Will_."

\- - - - -

Lucas and Dustin walked up the basement stairs, pausing to shoot glances at Mike and the girl. The boy was hunched over to offer her a sleeping bag where she sat cross-legged in a fort created from blankets and chairs. "Here you go, this is my sleeping bag." his soft voice announced.

Dustin heaved a sigh. "You really think she's psycho?"

"Wouldn't want her in my house." Lucas turned and headed up, vanishing into the first floor. Dustin followed after him but paused once more, shooting a long glance towards Mike and the girl. She had accepted the sleeping bag and Mike was crouched in front of her.

"Mental." Dustin sighed before heading up to follow Lucas.

 

"Hey, um, I never asked your name." Mike murmured, watching the girl's facial features with quiet interest. 

Her dark eyes met with his before she slowly pushed up her black shirtsleeve, revealing an inked tattoo:

011.

"Is that real?" almost instinctively, Mike leaned forwards, extending a hand to touch it. Before he could, the girl had quickly tucked her arm to her chest, flaring with alarm as if the concept of contact had frightened her. Leaning back with surprise, Mike gazed at her, wide-eyed.

He swallowed. "Sorry, I've just... never seen a kid with a tattoo before."

The girl shifted with remaining uncomfortableness, lifting her gaze to his.

"What does it mean? Eleven?"

As if already regaining trust, the girl lifted a finger to point at her chest.

"That's your name?" A mixture of surprise and awe was painted across his features.

Eleven nodded firmly.

"Eleven. Okay." the quietest of smiles slipped across his eager features. "Um, well, my name's Mike. Short for Michael. Maybe we can call you... El. Short for Eleven."

The girl gazed at the boy. Another quiet, simple nod.

"Um, well, okay. 'Night, El." The boy lifted himself to his feet, preparing to cover the fort with a blanket so she was hidden in the coccoon of a fort that had been created.

"'Night, Mike." her soft voice, so mysteriously quiet and pretty and unfamiliar.

Mike paused, almost stiffened, that voice automatically becoming ingrained into a deep part of his brain that he would never forget. And then he released the blanket, letting it cover the opening of the fort before walking away. He paused at the lightswitch, turning to offer Eleven and her fort one last, lingering glance before letting the darkness replace the feeble lights and vanishing upstairs.

Eleven lay in her fort, curled up into the fetal position. Thunder rumbled distantly and her lips trembled with fear unmeasured and dark memories. Perhaps she had at last found a breath of peace.


	13. The Weirdo on Maple Street - Chapter 2

"All right, mom. Breakfast is ready."

The Byers' household held an intense gravity - a heavy feeling of loss. The feeling of security their home had given them had been stolen from under their feet, and even the warm smell of sausages and eggs couldn't bring back the peace that had been taken from them.

"What? No, be careful of the poster." Joyce Byers had settled herself into a seat at the kitchen table. The surface of the table was strewn with papers and information and a missing poster with Will Byers' sweet face plastered across the front.

"Yeah, okay," Jonathan Byers murmured as he placed the two plates safely on the table where they wouldn't disturb the poster. "All right."

"I can't eat," Joyce's shoulders sagged as she glanced at the food.

"I just need you to eat, mom."

"Listen," Joyce's voice wavered as she shifted her gaze to her son. "Listen, the Xerox place opens in, like, thirty minutes."

"Yeah."

"And I don't want you to go alone -"

"No, I know. I told you, I got it."

"- so I'm gonna have Karen take you 'cause I should be here. And we need to make, what, two hundred, three hundred copies? How much is a copy? Ten cents?"

"Mom." Jonathan's voice rose steadily as he tried to grab his mother's attention. She was spiraling. It was evident in her hurried, frail and quivering movements, the wildness in her dark eyes and the mess she'd let herself become. "Mom."

At last, Jonathan reached out to take hold of her hand, finally diverting her attention to his own face. "You can't get like this, okay?" He stuttered.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Joyce ran a hand across her face as if the years of her life and the stress were finally catching up to her.

"No, it's okay," his hand went to her shoulder, giving his mother a comforting squeeze. 

Their conversation was abruptly paused from it's course as a loud knock from the front door echoed through the shabby house. Joyce rushed to the door, flinging it open, with a startling display of energy. "We've been waiting six hours," Joyce cried as Chief Hopper entered the threshold, his sturdy frame an intimidating sight. But little swayed Joyce Byers at this point.

"I know. I came as soon as I could," the man closed the door behind him.

" _Six. Hours._ "

"A little bit of trust here, all right?" Hopper held his hat in his hands, running his fingers over the rough texture. "We've been searching all night. Went all the way to Cartersville."

"And?"

"Nothing."

That one word. Harmless. But it was all that was needed to send Joyce to the very brink. She spun away from him, her hand flying to her mouth. A little glimmer inside her stomach sunk. "God."

"Flo says you got a phone call?"

"Oh, yeah," Joyce's voice warbled slightly as she led the way to the telephone stand. Jonathan stood, his arms dangling limply by his sides, and a deep sadness in his eyes.

Hopper picked up the pale yellow receiver, eyeballing the dark bruise-like parts that had been burnt. "Storm barbecued this pretty good."

"The _storm_?"

"What else?"

"You're saying that that's not. . . weird?" Her pitchy voice questioned, her features contorted into an expression of disbelief. No matter what she said, it sounded like she was two seconds away from bursting into tears. The word that neatly fit her current state was unstable.

Hopper swung the receiver back onto it's stand. "No, it's weird," he agreed.

"Can we, like, trace who made the call?" Jonathan murmured. "Contact the--"

"No, it doesn't work like that." Hopper's gaze roamed across the dimly lit interior. "Now, uh, you're sure it was Will? Because Flo said you just heard some breathing."

"No. It was _him_. It was Will." A tone of certainty layered her voice as she nodded insistently. Her voice broke as she tried to force out the words. "And he was scared. And then something -"

"It was probably just a prank call. It was somebody trying to scare you." The easy, cool smoothness to Hopper's voice did little to comfort Joyce.

"But who would do that?" Jonathan questioned.

"Well, this thing's been on TV. It brings out all the crazies, you know. False leads, prank calls, uh. . ."

"No, Hopper. It was not a prank. It was him."

"Joyce."

"Come on, how 'bout a little trust here?" The woman cried. "What, you think I'm. . . I'm making this up?"

"I'm not saying that you're making it up. All I'm saying is it's an emotional time for you."

"And you think I don't know my own son's breathing?" Joyce shouted, her tone mingled with an intense anger and sadness. "Wouldn't you know your own daughter's?"

Hopper set his jaw, his gaze boring into Joyce's flushed features. She'd hit a nerve. Swallowing thickly, his emotions cleverly masked behind a firm coldness, he turned and took a few steps away. He turned around once again, chin raised. "You hear from, uh, Lonnie yet?"

"No," Joyce replied bitterly.

"It's been long enough. I'm having him checked out." Hopper adjusted his hat onto his head, striding quickly towards the doorway.

"Oh, come on! You're wasting your time!" Joyce cried after him.

Jonathan jogged after Hopper, reaching him swiftly by the Chief's vehicle parked outside the house. "Hopper! Let me go."

Hopper turned around to face the teenager. "I'm sorry?"

"To Lonnie's," he panted. "You know, if Will's there, it means he ran away. And if he sees the cops, he'll think he's in trouble. He'll. . . he'll hide. He's good at hiding."

Hopper took a cigarette and put it in his mouth, teeth closing on the small stick. "Yeah? Well, cops are good at finding." He took the boy by his shoulders, staring into his stricken features. "Okay? Stay here with your mom." He nudged the boy roughly in the shoulder before turning towards his car, leaving his parting words trailing after him. "She needs you."

Despite Chief Hopper's cool and brutish demeanor, in a simple way, it showed that he cared. Perhaps not for many and not very detectable. But that fiber of caring could only grow.


	14. The Weirdo on Maple Street - Chapter 3

Pop. Mike Wheeler grabbed one of the three Eggos from the toaster and slid it carefully into his jacket pocket. As much as it looked like it, it wasn't a sneaky snack to eat during class. It was far more complicated than that.

The kitchen table was silent as Mike devoured the other two Eggos ravenously, using his fingers to hold the doughy waffle and funnel it into his mouth. His family members shot him mildly confused glances before resorting to the fact that Mike was just being Mike.

"Slow down, Mike. That's disgusting," Nancy muttered, using a knife and fork to cut her Eggo primly.

"Do a lot of studying last night?" Mike responded, his voice muffled by his stuffed cheeks.

"Yeah, actually, I did," she replied calmly.

"What was your test on again? Human anatomy?" Mike quipped.

Nancy leveled her death glare on her little brother, aiming a kick at his leg. He returned it even more forcefully.

"Hey, what's going on?" Karen Wheeler glanced at her children, gaze narrowed. Their innocent expressions turned to face her, responding in sync: "nothing".

–––––

Mike lifted the blanket from where it was settled, hiding Eleven safely in the little fort they'd created. The girl was awake, sitting cross-legged and fiddling with a super-comm, radio static issuing from it.

"Hey, you found my super-comm," Mike smiled as he glanced at the black device held in her hands. "Pretty cool, huh? I talk to my friends with it. Mostly Lucas 'cause he lives so close. Signal's pretty weak."

The girl's chin was lifted, examining his features and his words attentively. Mike slid out the Eggo he'd carefully hidden in his pocket and extended it towards her. "Got you breakfast."

Accepting it, she readily took a large bite without hesitation. Already, a quiet level of trust had been established between the duo.

"So, listen, this is gonna sound a little weird," Mike commenced, "but I need you to go up there. Then go to the front door and ring the doorbell. My mom will answer and you'll tell her that you're lost and that you need help. But whatever you do, you can't tell her about last night or that you know me." The boy's voice was calm as he explained the situation – it was obvious he'd thought long and hard about it. He certainly hadn't got much sleep. "Understand?"

The girl chewed the Eggo, gazing at Mike silently.

"Really, it's no big deal," Mike chuckled softly. "We'll just pretend to meet each other again. And my mom, she'll know who to call."

He sounded so reassured and sure of himself that it came as a surprise to hear the girl oppose, her soft voice laced with utter determination; "No."

Mike blinked, silently unsure what to do or what to say. "No?"

"No."

"No. . . you don't want my mom to get help?" Mike clearly couldn't understand how or why she didn't like his thought-out plan.

The girl took her time, shaking her head softly at him.

Realization clued in and Mike's dark, wondering eyes widened slightly. "You're in trouble, aren't you?"

Eleven gazed at Mike silently.

"Who. . . Who are you in trouble with?" Mike questioned, viewing Eleven's features under a rather new light. The shroud of mystery surrounding her had thickened if even possible.

"Bad," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Bad? Bad people?"

A quiet nod.

"They want to hurt you? The bad people?"

Slowly, the girl lifted a hand to her head in the form of a gun. It was all that was needed to shift the situation completely. Blinking silently, Eleven took her hand and moved it towards Mike, the gun aimed at him. Her dark eyes explored his before her voice spoke again with a quiet solemnity. "Understand?"

Mike didn't have time to answer or give a nod. He was interrupted as Karen Wheeler's voice called out from upstairs. "Michael, where are you? We're going to be late. Let's go."

"All right, I'll be back," Mike stammered in a rush. "Just stay here, okay? Stay here." He jumped to his feet, dropping the blanket back to its original position and vanishing quickly, leaving Eleven with a quivering bottom lip.

––––– 

"When was this?" Dr. Brenner strode through the clinical hallways, straightening his jacket.

"Last night. Less than two miles away," responded an employee.

"And the boy?" he demanded.

"Still missing." 

Within a few minutes, the doctor sat in a beeping room, headphones over his ears. Listening. Dr. Brenner listened intently to the telephone call Joyce Byers had made to the police department previously.

"It was my son. I know it. And I. . . I heard something else."

Florence, the department's elderly secretary, questioned disbelievingly. "Something else?"

"It was like, uh, some kind of animal," came Joyce's trembling voice. "I don't know. Just please tell Hop to hurry."


	15. The Weirdo on Maple Street - Chapter 4

The tall trees stood, reaching for the sky, amid the shouts of volunteers and police officers, all crying out the same name. Dogs howled and barked but the tumult of noise and string of volunteers did nothing. They had had no success. Not a clue as to where young Will Byers had gone.

"Hey! Anything?" Chief Hopper strode towards his team of police, boots crunching on dead leaves. The two men working under him, Callahan and Powell had gone with an assortment of volunteers, roaming through the forest near the Byers house, hunting for Will.

"You?" Callahan asked, shaking his head as his chief approached.

"No, nothing but a dead phone."

"Joyce?"

"About one step from falling off the edge," Hopper replied, holding his hat in his hands. Under the pale, cloudy light of day, he appeared exhausted.

"She's been a few steps for a while now, hasn't she?" Powell asked.

"Kid's missing, man," Hopper uttered, staring at his comrade with a quiet anger lurking in his gaze. "Show a little class." He turned and walked away, the sound of crunching leaves and twigs following his every footstep. "All right. Come on, let's go!" He called out to the volunteers, his firm, booming voice reaching their every ear. "We got a lot of ground to cover."

Callahan leaned towards his companion, hands resting leisurely on his hips. "The chief and her, they've screwed before, huh?"

Powell smiled dryly before turning without a word and following after the volunteers, his voice raising to blend with theirs, all different and unique but single in purpose.

"That a 'yeah' or. . ." Callahan mumbled before trailing after him.

––––– 

Despite the troubles that were underway, Hawkins High School was bustling with life and energy. Shifting bodies and loud conversations coursed through the school's hallway as Nancy Wheeler and Barbara Holland made their way through the brightly lit hall.

"When alpha particles go through gold foil, they become. . ." 

"Unoccupied space." Nancy had clearly studied.

"A molecule that can – hey!" From out of nowhere, Steve Harrington appeared, snatching the notes Barbara held in her hand. His friend, Tommy, tweaked her ear as he passed by, earning a scowl from her.

"I don't know, I think you've studied enough, Nance," Steve badgered as he glanced over the notes Barb had been reading.

"Steve –" Nancy sighed.

"I'm telling you, you know, you got this," Steve persisted, glancing up to look at her. "Don't worry. Now, on to more important matters. My dad has left town on a conference and my mom's gone with him 'cause, you know, she doesn't trust him."

"Good call," Tommy drawled.

"So, are you in?"

"In. . . for what?" Nancy glanced at Steve, blinking.

Tommy's girlfriend, Carol, equally annoying, was leaning against the wall and examining the two girls as if they were fifth-graders. "No parents? Big house?"

"A. . . party?" Nancy queried, her gaze shifting from Steve and his two companions.

"Ding, ding, ding," Carol trilled smugly. Tommy laughed, his hands planted on his hips.

"It's. . . Tuesday."

"It's Tuesday, oh my gosh," Tommy mocked her, laughing as if Nancy was absurd.

"Come on," Steve persuaded calmly, "it'll be lowkey. It'll be just us. What do you say? Are you in or are you out?"

An expression of thought passed across Nancy's features as she sucked in a breath, contemplating it. But before she could properly answer, Carol's whiny voice murmured an, "oh, gosh. Look".

"Oh, gosh, that's depressing," Steve agreed.

The group of teenagers turned to look, gazes landing upon an unfortunate Jonathan Byers. His shaggy hair fell in his eyes as he stuck a missing poster of Will Byers upon the school billboard. There were dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep and an aura of sadness seemed to surround him and his every movement.

"Should we say something?" Nancy murmured.

"I don't think he speaks," Carol sniffed with a hint of disgust in her voice as she shot a side glance towards her companions.

"How much do you want to bet he killed him?" Tommy added, a smirk blossoming on his features. Steve lightly smacked his friend's chest with a "shut up". Wordlessly, Nancy lifted her chin and moved past the group and towards Jonathan.

"Hey," Nancy greeted him softly. The boy turned around swiftly, gaze locking upon hers in quiet surprise.

"Oh, hey."

Nancy glanced downwards, trying to collect the right words. What do you say to someone you've barely talked to after their brother has just gone missing? "I just. . . I wanted to say, you know, um, I'm sorry. . . about everything." Her voice was laced with a solemn sincerity, her words were clearly picked with care and concern. After all, she'd known Will, too. She glanced towards her friends as she'd finished who were casually watching the duo. "Everyone's thinking of you," she added as she returned her gaze to meet his. "It sucks."

Jonathan's gaze dropped to the ground briefly but when his intense eyes returned to hers, they were softened. "Yeah."

"I'm sure he's fine. He's a smart kid."

The bell rang abruptly, cutting their conversation short.

"I have to go. Chemistry test," she smiled warmly and surprisingly, he returned it. "Good luck," she finished before turning, holding her books closer to her chest with Jonathan's final "thanks" humming after her.

The principal's voice rang out across the PA. "Attention faculty and students, at eight pm tonight there will be an assembly on the football field in support of Will Byers and his family. All are encouraged to attend. Volunteer sign-ups for search parties are still available in the office."

Jonathan turned and left through the double doors leading outside, leaving a hollow memory of his distant aura and the missing poster attached to the school's billboard. It read:

**HAVE YOU SEEN ME?**

**Will Byers, aged 12, 4'9"**

**Brown hair, Brown eyes, 73lbs**

**Last seen wearing: Jeans,**

**Blue plaid shirt, White T-shirt,**

**Red down vest with tan stripe.**

**Carrying Black Canvas Day Bag.**

**Any information call Joyce Byers**

**555-0141**


	16. The Weirdo on Maple Street - Chapter 5

“Oh, this is weird.” 

Across the classroom, kids were slipping into their seats and thudding their backpacks down onto the ground. The bell had just rung and everyone was quick, but reluctant, to find their seats and begin their day of schoolwork. 

Dustin, seated next to Lucas, shot a glance at the empty chair and desk of Mike Wheeler. There was a thick, ominous feeling of dread creeping into the curly-haired boy's stomach.

“He's never this late.”

“I'm telling you, his stupid plan failed,” Lucas mumbled bitterly. 

“I thought you liked his plan,” Dustin exclaimed.

“Yeah, but obviously it was stupid, or he'd be here,” Lucas replied defensively.

“If his mom found out a girl spent the night--”

“He's in deep shit right about now.”

“Hey,” Dustin leaned towards Lucas, his voice dropping to a whisper, “what if she slept naked?”

“Oh, my god, she didn't,” Lucas responded with an annoyed eyeroll as if the concept was unfathomably stupid. He seemed to have the pattern of thinking absolutely everything was stupid unless it was reliably proven otherwise. 

“Oh, if Mrs Wheeler tells my parents,” Dustin groaned, raising a hand to touch his forehead at the mere prospect.

“No way. Mike would never rat us out,” Lucas assured confidently. 

“I don't know,” Dustin answered doubtfully.

“All that matters is, after school, the freak will be back in the loony bin and we can focus on what really matters: finding Will.”

It seemed as if Lucas had strong, fortified opinions on their odd new discovery, Eleven. Dustin turned away, his own mind far more hesitant on forming an opinion of her. All he knew for certain was that she was strange as heck.

\- - - - -

Eleven was finding her new surroundings a lot more interesting than the basement fort she'd been cooped up in. 

Mike had pretended to leave for school on his bike but as soon as his parents had both left for work, he'd speedily returned. She was wearing an old, long sleeved shirt of his and he was guiding her, and she was following like a lost puppy, throughout his house. There were various things she'd never seen before; rows of books and cassettes, colouring books, stickers, comic books. . . The list was endless and her eyes remained peeled open, absorbing every detail of every room. 

“You want anything to drink? We have OJ, skim milk. . . what else? Um, we have. . .” Mike's voice babbled on, background noise to Eleven's thoughts as they entered a warm, comfortable room with a TV pressed against the wall. It was one thing that Eleven had seen before. “Oh, this is my living room,” Mike explained, “it's mostly just for watching TV.” Eleven found specific interest in staring at the big, black box, memories washing over her as Mike noticed her fascination and continued speaking. “Nice, right? It's a twenty-two-inch. That's like, ten times, bigger than Dustin's.”

Eleven had turned, her attention lost, as she slowly meandered towards the fireplace mantel where numerous photographs of the family had been assorted. There was a family portrait, multiple of their toddler Holly when she'd been a baby, and a photo for both Nancy and Mike, their faces primly beaming at the camera.   
Eleven stood on the fireplace hearth so she could squarely view the pictures but her gaze had focused on that of Nancy. In her soft voice she murmured simply,“pretty.”

“I guess,” Mike stammered awkwardly. “That's my sister Nancy.”

As Eleven moved to view the other photographs, Mike began listing off explanations as they went. “And that's baby Holly. And those are my parents. What are your parents like?”

Eleven, as usual, remained perfectly silent.

“Do they live close?”

The girl moved towards the large, cushioned chair next to the fireplace. She placed her hands on the top, feeling the fabric's texture beneath her hands.

“That's our La-Z-Boy, it's where my dad sleeps. You can try it if you want,” he suggested. 

She glanced at him warily but slowly made her way around to the front of the chair as Mike added a positive “it's fun!” comment for encouragement. 

Eleven settled herself into the chair, both arms rested tensely on the armrests. Her gaze immediately shifted to meet Mike's, large and wild locking with his soft and calm. 

“Just, trust me okay?” He questioned, earning a careful nod from her. They'd managed to create a level of trust which they both were careful not to break.

Mike adjusted something on the side of the chair and immediately the back of the chair fell into a rocking-chair lying down style. It had been so quick, it left both Mike and Eleven chuckling quietly.

“See? Fun, right?” Mike beamed at Eleven's softly smiling features before propping up the back into its original position. “Now you try.”

Eleven reached down over the right armrest to find the same lever Mike had used before. Pulling it cautiously, the chair dropped into its lying down rocking chair style as quickly as it had before. They both laughed freely now, the dim morning light casting a glow on their childish, happy features.

\- - - - -

There was a sense of peace that accompanied cruising on the empty highway with nothing but the sound of loud rock music drumming in his ears. Jonathan Byers was out to find Lonnie and hopefully, although at this point he'd given up in hope, Will. Despite Chief Hopper's warning to stay put and take care of Joyce, Jonathan was getting inexhaustibly tired of the helplessness that was consuming his life. His younger brother was missing, and for heavens sake, he'd do anything to get him back.

On the car stereo, the song ended and another took its place. A heart achingly familiar couple of notes rang out, filling his heart with immense nostalgia and memories that hurt to think about. Back to a time when things had been simpler – well, nothing had ever been simple – but a time when he hadn't had to worry about Will's safety. 

_“Darling, you got to let me know.”_

_The stereo boomed clearly. Jonathan and Will Byers were settled on the edge of Jonathan's bed, their shoulders and heads bouncing to the rock song's defined tune._

_“Should I stay or should I go?”_

_Nothing but their two bobbing bodies and the sound of music filling their eardrums, the entire room, the whole world. . ._

_“You like it?” Jonathan asked, shooting his younger brother a glance._

_“Yeah, it's cool.”Will responded, raising his voice so it could be heard clearly above the sound of the music._

_“All right, you can keep the mix if you want.”_

_“Really?” Will questioned happily._

_“Yeah, really. All the best stuff's on there. Joy Division, Bowie, Television, The Smiths. . .It'll totally change your life.” Jonathan was watching his younger brother's features, a quiet contentedness filling his chest at sharing something that meant so much to him with his brother._

_“Yeah, totally,” Will smiled._

_And just like that, their quiet, pure moment was disrupted as the background noises of their parents cut through. Even the loud music couldn't deafen the sound of their mother's harsh tone and muffled anger. Jonathan smoothly walked to the doorway, closing the bedroom door, before returning and turning down the volume of their music. No purpose in trying to make it louder when the walls were paper thin – they'd hear their mother's frustration, even if the music was so loud it shook their house's frail walls._

_“He's not coming, is he?” Will asked softly._

_“Do you even like baseball?”_

_Will glumly lifted his shoulders in a loose shrug. “No. . . but, I don't know. It's fun to go with him sometimes.” The words fell from his lips like stones in deep waters and it was clear he didn't really mean it. He didn't want to admit the truth._

_“Come on,” Jonathan sighed. “Has he ever done anything with you that you actually like?” He was gazing at his brother with a sincere concern that only a sibling could have. “You know, like the arcade or something.”_

_“I don't know,” Will murmured._

_“No, all right? He hasn't. He's trying to force you to like normal things. And you shouldn't like things because people tell you you're supposed to. Okay?” Jonathan was staring at his brother for a response, anything to satisfy the brotherly protection he had for him. “Especially not him.” There was a brief pause before he continued; “but you like The Clash? For real?”_

_“For real. Definitely.”_

_They were smiling now and Jonathan leaned forward to turn up the volume again, the rock music roaring in their ears and their bodies grooving to the music. The lyrics absentmindedly found a permanent place in Jonathan's memory, little reminders of this comfortable place on the side of his bed, pretending as if everything was okay. Pretending nothing existed in the world but him, his brother and the song pumping through the room._

_“Should I stay or should I go?”_

\- - - - -

Joyce's dull green car sped carelessly through the clear streets, swerving into the tiny parking lot of Melvald's General Store. The doors chimed with the sound of a bell as she rushed inside, her mind so occupied with her tasks at hand, she nearly forgot about her boss, Donald.

“Joyce, I wasn't expecting you today,” he exclaimed as he followed her through an aisle. “I brought Jeffrey in to cover.”

“I'm not here to work,” Joyce stammered as she hunted through the shelves, “the storm last night – I. . . I need a new phone.” 

Within a couple minutes she stood by the counter, the cardboard box containing her new phone being paid for.

“Okay, that looks like twenty two dollars and fifty six cents,” the man smiled gently as he looked expectantly towards the woman. 

She scrambled for words, her anxiousness revealing itself in the 'uh's peppered throughout her speech. “Uh, yeah, you know, uh, I gave Jonathan all my money for. . . for the copies for the posters. Uh, I need an advance.” It was clear she was reluctant to say those words but she was certainly in a desperate situation.

“Yes, well, of course,” Donald responded kindly to Joyce's softly whispered “thank you”. He grabbed for a pen and leaned over the counter to write down the loan.

“Yeah, uh, I was thinking two weeks?” Joyce added, her gaze trained on her boss. He slowly lifted his head, an uncomfortable expression evident in his lined features.

“Yes, I understand, but you know, I have to pay Jeffrey for covering--”

“Donald. I've been here ten years, right? Have I ever called in sick or missed a shift _once_? I've worked, uh, Christmas Eve and Thanksgiving.” Her voice began breaking, a hint of her crumbling, desperate heart. “I don't know where my boy is. He's gone. I don't know if I'm gonna ever see him again, if he's hurt. . .” Her breathing came in soft gasps as if her lungs were fighting for oxygen they weren't being supplied. But as she steadily regained control, a new determination took place in her warbling voice. “I, uh, I need this phone and two weeks' advance.”

The gray-haired man took in her messy hair, the brink of sanity she was teetering on the edge of, and recalled every holiday she'd ever sacrificed for this job. For her children. With a soft smile, he nodded, convinced, and leaned down to complete the loan.

“And a pack of Camels.”


End file.
